UC-NRLF 


ctirz* 


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This  story  is  taken  from  Miss  Wilkins's 
book,  Silence,  and  Other  Stories,  pub 
lished  by  Harper  &  Brothers. 


THE    LORD    MAKE    ME    WORTHY   OF    THEE 


EVELINA'S 
GARDEN 

By  Mary  E.  Wilkins 


NEW      YORK      AND     LONDON 

HA  RPR R    &     />'  A> Q  TH E R S 

MDCCCXCIX 


Copyright,  1898,  1899,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 
All  rights  reserved. 


955- 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 


R697920 


Evelina's  Garden 

ON  the  south  a  high  arbor-vitae 
hedge  separated  Evelina's  garden 
from  the  road.  The  hedge  was  so 
high  that  when  the  school-children 
lagged  by,  and  the  secrets  behind  it 
fired  them  with  more  curiosity  than 
those  between  their  battered  book 
covers,  the  tallest  of  them  by  stretch 
ing  up  on  tiptoe  could  not  peer  over. 
And  so  they  were  driven  to  childish 
engineering  feats,  and  would  set  to 
work  and  pick  away  sprigs  of  the 
arbor-vitae  with  their  little  fingers, 
and  make  peep-holes  —  but  small 
ones,  that  Evelina  might  not  discern 
them.  Then  they  would  thrust  their 
pink  faces  into  the  hedge,  and  the 
enduring  fragrance  of  it  would  come 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

to  their  nostrils  like  a  gust  of  aro 
matic  breath  from  the  mouth  of  the 
northern  woods,  and  peer  into  Eve 
lina's  garden  as  through  the  green 
tubes  of  vernal  telescopes. 

Then  suddenly  hollyhocks,  bloom 
ing  in  rank  and  file,  seemed  to  be 
marching  upon  them  like  platoons 
of  soldiers,  with  detonations  of  color 
that  dazzled  their  peeping  eyes ;  and, 
indeed,  the  whole  garden  seemed 
charging  with  its  mass  of  riotous 
bloom  upon  the  hedge.  They  could 
scarcely  take  in  details  of  mari 
gold  and  phlox  and  pinks  and  Lon 
don-pride  and  cock's-combs,  and 
prince's-feathers  waving  overhead 
like  standards. 

Sometimes  also  there  was  the 
purple  flutter  of  Evelina's  gown; 
and  Evelina's  face,  delicately  faded, 
hung  about  with  softly  drooping  gray 
curls,  appeared  suddenly  among  the 
flowers,  like  another  flower  uncannily 
instinct  with  nervous  melancholy. 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

Then  the  children  would  fall  back 
from  their  peep-holes,  and  huddle 
off  together  with  scared  giggles. 
They  were  afraid  of  Evelina.  There 
was  a  shade  of  mystery  about  her 
which  stimulated  their  childish  fan 
cies  when  they  heard  her  discussed 
by  their  elders.  They  might  easily 
have  conceived  her  to  be  some  bale 
ful  fairy  intrenched  in  her  green 
stronghold,  withheld  from  leaving  it 
by  the  fear  of  some  dire  penalty  for 
magical  sins.  Summer  and  winter, 
spring  and  fall,  Evelina  Adams  never 
was  seen  outside  her  own  domain  of 
old  mansion-house  and  garden,  and 
she  had  not  set  her  slim  lady  feet  in 
the  public  highway  for  nearly  forty 
years,  if  the  stories  were  true. 

People  differed  as  to  the  reason 
why.  Some  said  she  had  had  an 
unfortunate  love  affair,  that  her 
heart  had  been  broken,  and  she  had 
taken  upon  herself  a  vow  of  seclusion 
from  the  world,  but  nobody  could 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

point  to  the  unworthy  lover  who 
had  done  her  this  harm.  When 
Evelina  was  a  girl,  not  one  of  the 
young  men  of  the  village  had  dared 
address  her.  She  had  been  set  apart 
by  birth  and  training,  and  also  by  a 
certain  exclusiveness  of  manner,  if 
not  of  nature.  Her  father,  old 
Squire  Adams,  had  been  the  one 
man  of  wealth  and  college  learning 
in  the  village.  He  had  owned  the 
one  fine  old  mansion-house,  with  its 
white  front  propped  on  great  Corin 
thian  pillars,  overlooking  the  village 
like  a  broad  brow  of  superiority. 

He  had  owned  the  only  coach  and 
four.  His  wife  during  her  short  life 
had  gone  dressed  in  rich  brocades 
and  satins  that  rustled  loud  in  the 
ears  of  the  village  women,  and  her 
nodding  plumes  had  dazzled  the  eyes 
under  their  modest  hoods.  Hardly 
a  woman  in  the  village  but  could  tell 
— for  it  had  been  handed  down  like 
a  folk-lore  song  from  mother  to 
6 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

daughter — just  what  Squire  Adams's 
wife  wore  when  she  walked  out  first 
as  bride  to  meeting.  She  had  been 
clad  all  in  blue. 

"  Squire  Adams's  wife,  when  she 
walked  out  bride,  she  wore  a  blue 
satin  brocade  gown,  all  wrought  with 
blue  flowers  of  a  darker  blue,  cut 
low  neck  and  short  sleeves.  She 
wore  long  blue  silk  mitts  wrought 
with  blue,  blue  satin  shoes,  and  blue 
silk  clocked  stockings.  And  she 
wore  a  blue  crape  mantle  that  was 
brought  from  over-seas,  and  a  blue 
velvet  hat,  with  a  long  blue  ostrich 
feather  curled  over  it — it  was  so  long 
it  reached  her  shoulder,  and  waved 
when  she  walked ;  and  she  carried  a 
little  blue  crape  fan  with  ivory 
sticks."  So  the  women  and  girls 
told  each  other  when  the  Squire's 
bride  had  been  dead  nearly  seventy 
years. 

The  blue  bride  attire  was  said  to 
be  still  in  existence,    packed  away 

7 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

in  a  cedar  chest,  as  the  Squire 
had  ordered  after  his  wife's  death. 
"  He  stood  over  the  woman  that 
took  care  of  his  wife  whilst  she 
packed  the  things  away,  and  he 
never  shed  a  tear,  but  she  used  to 
hear  him  a-goin'  up  to  the  north 
chamber  nights,  when  he  could  n't 
sleep,  to  look  at  'em,"  the  women 
told. 

People  had  thought  the  Squire 
would  marry  again.  They  said  Eve 
lina,  who  was  only  four  years  old, 
needed  a  mother,  and  they  selected 
one  and  another  of  the  good  village 
girls.  But  the  Squire  never  married. 
He  had  a  single  woman,  who  dressed 
in  black  silk,  and  wore  always  a  black 
wrought  veil  over  the  side  of  her 
bonnet,  come  to  live  with  them,  to 
take  charge  of  Evelina.  She  was 
said  to  be  a  distant  relative  of  the 
Squire's  wife,  and  was  much  looked 
up  to  by  the  village  people,  although 
she  never  did  more  than  interlace,  as 
8 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

it  were,  the  fringes  of  her  garments 
with  theirs.  "  She  's  stuck  up," 
they  said,  and  felt,  curiously  enough, 
a  certain  pride  in  the  fact  when  they 
met  her  in  the  street  and  she  ducked 
her  long  chin  stiffly  into  the  folds  of 
her  black  shawl  by  way  of  salutation. 

When  Evelina  was  fifteen  years 
old  this  single  woman  died,  and  the 
village  women  went  to  her  funeral, 
and  bent  over  her  lying  in  a  last 
helpless  dignity  in  her  coffin,  and 
stared  with  awed  freedom  at  her  cold 
face.  After  that  Evelina  was  sent 
away  to  school,  and  did  not  return, 
except  for  a  yearly  vacation,  for  six 
years  to  come.  Then  she  returned, 
and  settled  down  in  her  old  home  to 
live  out  her  life,  and  end  her  days  in 
a  perfect  semblance  of  peace,  if  it 
were  not  peace. 

Evelina  never  had  any  young 
school  friend  to  visit  her;  she  had 
never,  so  far  as  any  one  knew,  a 
friend  of  her  own  age.  She  lived 

g 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

alone  with  her  father  and  three  old 
servants.  She  went  to  meeting,  and 
drove  with  the  Squire  in  his  chaise. 
The  coach  was  never  used  after  his 
wife's  death,  except  to  carry  Evelina 
to  and  from  school.  She  and  the 
Squire  also  took  long  walks,  but 
they  never  exchanged  aught  but  the 
merest  civilities  of  good-days  and 
nods  with  the  neighbors  whom  they 
met,  unless  indeed  the  Squire  had 
some  matter  of  business  to  discuss. 
Then  Evelina  stood  aside  and  waited, 
her  fair  face  drooping  gravely  aloof. 
She  was  very  pretty,  with  a  gentle 
high-bred  prettiness  that  impressed 
the  village  folk,  although  they  looked 
at  it  somewhat  askance. 

Evelina's  figure  was  tall,  and  had 
a  fine  slenderness;  her  silken  skirts 
hung  straight  from  the  narrow  silk 
ribbon  that  girt  her  slim  waist ;  there 
was  a  languidly  graceful  bend  in  her 
long  white  throat ;  her  long  delicate 
hands  hung  inertly  at  her  sides 

10 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

among  her  skirt  folds,  and  were  never 
seen  to  clasp  anything;  her  softly 
clustering  fair  curls  hung  over  her 
thin  blooming  cheeks,  and  her  face 
could  scarce  be  seen,  unless,  as  she 
seldom  did,  she  turned  and  looked 
full  upon  one.  Then  her  dark  blue 
eyes,  with  a  little  nervous  frown  be 
tween  them,  shone  out  radiantly ; 
her  thin  lips  showed  a  warm  red, 
and  her  beauty  startled  one. 

Everybody  wondered  why  she  did 
not  have  a  lover,  why  some  fine 
young  man  had  not  been  smitten  by 
her  while  she  had  been  away  at 
school.  They  did  not  know  that 
the  school  had  been  situated  in 
another  little  village,  the  counter 
part  of  the  one  in  which  she  had 
been  born,  wherein  a  fitting  mate 
for  a  bird  of  her  feather  could  hardly 
be  found.  The  simple  young  men 
of  the  country-side  were  at  once 
attracted  and  intimidated  by  her. 
They  cast  fond  sly  glances  across  the 
IT 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

meeting-house  at  her  lovely  face, 
but  they  were  confused  before  her 
when  they  jostled  her  in  the  door 
way  and  the  rose  and  lavender  scent 
of  her  lady  garments  came  in  their 
faces.  Not  one  of  them  dared  ac 
cost  her,  much  less  march  boldly 
upon  the  great  Corinthian -pillared 
house,  raise  the  brass  knocker,  and 
declare  himself  a  suitor  for  the 
Squire's  daughter. 

One  young  man  there  was,  in 
deed,  who  treasured  in  his  heart  an 
experience  so  subtle  and  so  slight 
that  he  could  scarcely  believe  in  it 
himself.  He  never  recounted  it  to 
mortal  soul,  but  kept  it  as  a  secret 
sacred  between  himself  and  his  own 
nature,  but  something  to  be  scoffed 
at  and  set  aside  by  others. 

It  had  happened  one  Sabbath  day 
in  summer,  when  Evelina  had  not 
been  many  years  home  from  school, 
as  she  sat  in  the  meeting-house  in  her 
Sabbath  array  of  rose-colored  satin 
12 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

gown,  and  white  bonnet  trimmed 
with  a  long  white  feather  and  a 
little  wreath  of  feathery  green,  that 
of  a  sudden  she  raised  her  head  and 
turned  her  face,  and  her  blue  eyes 
met  this  young  man's  full  upon  hers, 
with  all  his  heart  in  them,  and  it  was 
for  a  second  as  if  her  own  heart 
leaped  to  the  surface,  and  he  saw  it, 
although  afterwards  he  scarce  be 
lieved  it  to  be  true. 

Then  a  pallor  crept  over  Evelina's 
delicately  brilliant  face.  She  turned 
it  away,  and  her  curls  falling  softly 
from  under  the  green  wreath  on  her 
bonnet  brim  hid  it.  The  young 
man's  cheeks  were  a  hot  red,  and  his 
heart  beat  loudly  in  his  ears  when  he 
met  her  in  the  doorway  after  the 
sermon  was  done.  His  eager,  timor 
ous  eyes  sought  her  face,  but  she 
never  looked  his  way.  She  laid  her 
slim  hand  in  its  cream-colored  silk 
mitt  on  the  Squire's  arm;  her  satin 
gown  rustled  softly  as  she  passed 

'3 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

before  him,  shrinking  against  the 
wall  to  give  her  room,  and  a  faint 
fragrance  which  seemed  like  the  very 
breath  of  the  unknown  delicacy  and 
exclusiveness  of  life  came  to  his  be 
wildered  senses. 

Many  a  time  he  cast  furtive  glances 
across  the  meeting-house  at  Evelina, 
but  she  never  looked  his  way  again. 
If  his  timid  boy-eyes  could  have  seen 
her  cheek  behind  its  veil  of  curls,  he 
might  have  discovered  that  the  color 
came  and  went  before  his  glances, 
although  it  was  strange  how  she 
could  have  been  conscious  of  them ; 
but  he  never  knew. 

And  he  also  never  knew  how, 
when  he  walked  past  the  Squire's 
house  of  a  Sunday  evening,  dressed 
in  his  best,  with  his  shoulders  thrust 
consciously  back,  and  the  windows  in 
the  westering  sun  looked  full  of  blank 
gold  to  his  furtive  eyes,  Evelina  was 
always  peeping  at  him  from  behind 
a  shutter,  and  he  never  dared  go  in. 

14 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

His  intuitions  were  not  like  hers, 
and  so  nothing  happened  that  might 
have,  and  he  never  fairly  knew  what 
he  knew.  But  that  he  never  told, 
even  to  his  wife  when  he  married ; 
for  his  hot  young  blood  grew  weary 
and  impatient  with  this  vain  court 
ship,  and  he  turned  to  one  of  his 
villagemates,'  who  met  him  fairly 
half  way,  and  married  her  within  a 
year. 

On  the  Sunday  when  he  and  his 
bride  first  appeared  in  the  meeting 
house  Evelina  went  up  the  aisle 
behind  her  father  in  an  array  of 
flowered  brocade,  stiff  with  threads 
of  silver,  so  wonderful  that  people 
all  turned  their  heads  to  stare  at 
her.  She  wore  also  a  new  bonnet 
of  rose-colored  satin,  and  her  curls 
were  caught  back  a  little,  and  her 
face  showed  as  clear  and  beautiful 
as  an  angel's. 

The  young  bridegroom  glanced  at 
her  once  across  the  meeting-house, 

IS 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

then  he  looked  at  his  bride  in  her 
gay  wedding  finery  with  a  faithful 
look. 

When  Evelina  met  them  in  the 
doorway,  after  meeting  was  done, 
she  bowed  with  a  sweet  cold  grace 
to  the  bride,  who  courtesied  blush- 
ingly  in  return,  with  an  awkward 
sweep  of  her  foot  in  the  bridal  satin 
shoe.  The  bridegroom  did  not  look 
at  Evelina  at  all.  He  held  his  chin 
well  down  in  his  stock  with  solemn 
embarrassment,  and  passed  out 
stiffly,  his  bride  on  his  arm. 

Evelina,  shining  in  the  sun  like  a 
silver  lily,  went  up  the  street,  her 
father  stalking  beside  her  with  stately 
swings  of  his  cane,  and  that  was  the 
last  time  she  was  ever  seen  at  meet 
ing.  Nobody  knew  why. 

When  Evelina  was  a  little  over 
thirty  her  father  died.  There  was 
not  much  active  grief  for  him  in  the 
village ;  he  had  really  figured  therein 
more  as  a  stately  monument  of  his 
16 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

own  grandeur  than  anything  else. 
He  had  been  a  man  of  little  force 
of  character,  and  that  little  had 
seemed  to  degenerate  since  his  wife 
died.  An  inborn  dignity  of  manner 
might  have  served  to  disguise  his 
weakness  with  any  others  than  these 
shrewd  New-Englanders,  but  they 
read  him  rightly.  "  The  Squire 
wa'n't  ever  one  to  set  the  river 
a-fire, ' '  they  said.  Then,  moreover, 
he  left  none  of  his  property  to  the 
village  to  build  a  new  meeting, 
house  or  a  town-house.  It  all  went 
to  Evelina. 

People  expected  that  Evelina 
would  surely  show  herself  in  her 
mourning  at  meeting  the  Sunday 
after  the  Squire  died,  but  she  did 
not.  Moreover,  it  began  to  be 
gradually  discovered  that  she  never 
went  out  in  the  village  street  nor 
crossed  the  boundaries  of  her  own 
domains  after  her  father's  death. 
She  lived  in  the  great  house  with 

17 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

her  three  servants — a  man  and  his 
wife,  and  the  woman  who  had  been 
with  her  mother  when  she  died. 
Then  it  was  that  Evelina's  garden 
began.  There  had  always  been  a 
garden  at  the  back  of  the  Squire's 
house,  but  not  like  this,  and  only  a 
low  fence  had  separated  it  from  the 
road.  Now  one  morning  in  the 
autumn  the  people  saw  Evelina's 
man-servant,  John  Darby,  setting 
out  the  arbor-vitae  hedge,  and  in  the 
spring  after  that  there  were  plough 
ing  and  seed-sowing  extending  over 
a  full  half-acre,  which  later  blossomed 
out  in  glory. 

Before  the  hedge  grew  so  high 
Evelina  could  be  seen  at  work  in 
her  garden.  She  was  often  stooping 
over  the  flower-beds  in  the  early 
morning  when  the  village  was  first 
astir,  and  she  moved  among  them 
with  her  watering-pot  in  the  twilight 
— a  shadowy  figure  that  might, 
from  her  grace  and  her  constancy 
18 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

to    the    flowers,    have    been    Flora 
herself. 

As  the  years  went  on,  the  arbor- 
vitae  hedge  got  each  season  a  new 
growth  and  waxed  taller,  until  Eve 
lina  could  no  longer  be  seen  above 
it.  That  was  an  annoyance  to 
people,  because  the  quiet  mystery 
of  her  life  kept  their  curiosity  alive, 
until  it  was  in  a  constant  struggle, 
as  it  were,  with  the  green  luxuriance 
of  the  hedge. 

"  John  Darby  had  ought  to  trim 
that  hedge,"  they  said.  They  ac 
costed  him  in  the  street:  "  John,  if 
ye  don't  cut  that  hedge  down  a  little 
it  '11  all  die  out."  But  he  only 
made  a  surly  grunting  response,  in 
telligible  to  himself  alone,  and  passed 
on.  He  was  an  Englishman,  and 
had  lived  in  the  Squire's  family  since 
he  was  a  boy. 

He  had  a  nature  capable  of  only 
one  simple  line  of  force,    with    no 
radiations  or  parallels,  and  that  had 
19 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

early  resolved  itself  into  the  service 
of  the  Squire  and  his  house.  After 
the  Squire's  death  he  married  a 
woman  who  lived  in  the  family. 
She  was  much  older  than  himself, 
and  had  a  high  temper,  but  was 
a  good  servant,  and  he  married 
her  to  keep  her  to  her  allegiance 
to  Evelina.  Then  he  bent  her, 
without  her  knowledge,  to  take  his 
own  attitude  towards  his  mistress. 
No  more  could  be  gotten  out  of  John 
Darby's  wife  than  out  of  John  Darby 
concerning  the  doings  at  the  Squire's 
house.  She  met  curiosity  with  a  flash 
of  hot  temper,  and  he  with  surly 
taciturnity,  and  both  intimidated. 

The  third  of  Evelina's  servants 
was  the  woman  who  had  nursed  her 
mother,  and  she  was  naturally  sub 
dued  and  undemonstrative,  and  ren 
dered  still  more  so  by  a  ceaseless 
monotony  of  life.  She  never  went 
to  meeting,  and  was  seldom  seen 
outside  the  house.  A  passing  vision 
20 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

of  a  long  white-capped  face  at  a 
window  was  about  all  the  neighbors 
ever  saw  of  this  woman. 

So  Evelina's  gentle  privacy  was 
well  guarded  by  her  own  household, 
as  by  a  faithful  system  of  domestic 
police.  She  grew  old  peacefully  be 
hind  her  green  hedge,  shielded  effec 
tually  from  all  rough  bristles  of 
curiosity.  Every  new  spring  her 
own  bloom  showed  paler  beside  the 
new  bloom  of  her  flowers,  but  people 
could  not  see  it. 

Some  thirty  years  after  the  Squire's 
death  the  man  John  Darby  died  ;  his 
wife,  a  year  later.  That  left  Evelina 
alone  with  the  old  woman  who  had 
nursed  her  mother.  She  was  very 
old,  but  not  feeble,  and  quite  able 
to  perform  the  simple  household 
tasks  for  herself  and  Evelina.  An 
old  man,  who  saved  himself  from 
the  almshouse  in  such  ways,  came 
daily  to  do  the  rougher  part  of  the 
garden-work  in  John  Darby's  stead. 

21 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

He  was  aged  and  decrepit ;  his  mus 
cles  seemed  able  to  perform  their 
appointed  tasks  only  through  the 
accumulated  inertia  of  a  patiently 
toilsome  life  in  the  same  tracks. 
Apparently  they  would  have  col 
lapsed  had  he  tried  to  force  them  to 
aught  else  than  the  holding  of  the 
ploughshare,  the  pulling  of  weeds, 
the  digging  around  the  roots  of 
flowers,  and  the  planting  of  seeds. 

Every  autumn  he  seemed  about  to 
totter  to  his  fall  among  the  fading 
flowers;  every  spring  it  was  like 
Death  himself  urging  on  the  resur 
rection  ;  but  he  lived  on  year  after 
year,  and  tended  well  Evelina's  gar 
den,  and  the  gardens  of  other  maiden- 
women  and  widows  in  the  village. 
He  was  taciturn,  grubbing  among  his 
green  beds  as  silently  as  a  worm,  but 
now  and  then  he  warmed  a  little 
under  a  fire  of  questions  concerning 
Evelina's  garden.  "  Never  see  none 
sech  flowers  in  nobody's  garden  in 

22 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

this  town,  not  sence  I  knowed 
'nough  to  tell  a  pink  from  a  piny," 
he  would  mumble.  His  speech  was 
thick;  his  words  were  all  uncouthly 
slurred ;  the  expression  of  his  whole 
life  had  come  more  through  his  old 
knotted  hands  of  labor  than  through 
his  tongue.  But  he  would  wipe  his 
forehead  with  his  shirt-sleeve  and 
lean  a  second  on  his  spade,  and  his 
face  would  change  at  the  mention  of 
the  garden.  Its  wealth  of  bloom 
illumined  his  old  mind,  and  the  roses 
and  honeysuckles  and  pinks  seemed 
for  a  second  to  be  reflected  in  his 
bleared  old  eyes. 

There  had  never  been  in  the  village 
such  a  garden  as  this  of  Evelina 
Adams's.  All  the  old  blooms  which 
had  come  over  the  seas  with  the  early 
colonists,  and  started  as  it  were  their 
own  colony  of  flora  in  the  new 
country,  flourished  there.  The  nat 
uralized  pinks  and  phlox  and  holly 
hocks  and  the  rest,  changed  a  little 

23 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

in  color  and  fragrance  by  the  condi 
tions  of  a  new  climate  and  soil,  were 
all  in  Evelina's  garden,  and  no  one 
dreamed  what  they  meant  to  Eve 
lina;  and  she  did  not  dream  herself, 
for  her  heart  was  always  veiled  to 
her  own  eyes,  like  the  face  of  a  nun. 
The  roses  and  pinks,  the  poppies  and 
heart's-ease,  were  to  this  maiden- 
woman,  who  had  innocently  and 
helplessly  outgrown  her  maiden 
heart,  in  the  place  of  all  the  loves 
of  life  which  she  had  missed.  Her 
affections  had  forced  an  outlet  in 
roses;  they  exhaled  sweetness  in 
pinks,  and  twined  and  clung  in 
honeysuckle-vines.  The  daffodils, 
when  they  came  up  in  the  spring, 
comforted  her  like  the  smiles  of  chil 
dren  ;  when  she  saw  the  first  rose,  her 
heart  leaped  as  at  the  face  of  a  lover. 
She  had  lost  the  one  way  of  human 
affection,  but  her  feet  had  found  a 
little  single  side-track  of  love,  which 
gave  her  still  a  zest  in  the  journey  of 
24 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

life.  Even  in  the  winter  Evelina  had 
her  flowers,  for  she  kept  those  that 
would  bear  transplanting  in  pots,  and 
all  the  sunny  windows  in  her  house 
were  gay  with  them.  She  would 
also  not  let  a  rose  leaf  fall  and  waste 
in  the  garden  soil,  or  a  sprig  of 
lavender  or  thyme.  She  gathered 
them  all,  and  stored  them  away  in 
chests  and  drawers  and  old  china 
bowls — the  whole  house  seemed  laid 
away  in  rose  leaves  and  lavender. 
Evelina's  clothes  gave  out  at  every 
motion  that  fragrance  of  dead  flow 
ers  which  is  like  the  fragrance  of  the 
past,  and  has  a  sweetness  like  that 
of  sweet  memories.  Even  the  cedar 
chest  where  Evelina's  mother's  blue 
bridal  array  was  stored  had  its  till 
heaped  with  rose  leaves  and  lavender. 
When  Evelina  was  nearly  seventy 
years  old  the  old  nurse  who  had 
lived  with  her  her  whole  life  died. 
People  wondered  then  what  she 
would  do.  "  She  can't  live  all 

25 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

alone  in  that  great  house,"  they 
said.  But  she  did  live  there  alone 
six  months,  until  spring,  and  people 
used  to  watch  her  evening  lamp 
when  it  was  put  out,  and  the  morn 
ing  smoke  from  her  kitchen  chimney. 
"  It  ain't  safe  for  her  to  be  there 
alone  in  that  great  house,"  they  said. 
But  early  in  April  a  young  girl 
appeared  one  Sunday  in  the  old 
Squire's  pew.  Nobody  had  seen 
her  come  to  town,  and  nobody  knew 
who  she  was  or  where  she  came 
from,  but  the  old  people  said  she 
looked  just  as  Evelina  Adams  used 
to  when  she  was  young,  and  she 
must  be  some  relation.  The  old 
man  who  had  used  to  look  across 
the  meeting-house  at  Evelina,  over 
forty  years  ago,  looked  across  now 
at  this  young  girl,  and  gave  a  great 
start,  and  his  face  paled  under  his 
gray  beard  stubble.  His  old  wife 
gave  an  anxious,  wondering  glance 
at  him,  and  crammed  a  peppermint 
26 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

into  his  hand.  "Anything  the  mat 
ter,  father  ?  "  she  whispered  ;  but  he 
only  gave  his  head  a  half-surly  shake, 
and  then  fastened  his  eyes  straight 
ahead  upon  the  pulpit.  He  had 
reason  to  that  day,  for  his  only  son, 
Thomas,  was  going  to  preach  his 
first  sermon  therein  as  a  candidate. 
His  wife  ascribed  his  nervousness  to 
that.  She  put  a  peppermint  in  her 
own  mouth  and  sucked  it  comfort 
ably.  "  That  's  all  't  is,"  she 
thought  to  herself.  "  Father  always 
was  easy  worked  up,"  and  she 
looked  proudly  up  at  her  son  sitting 
on  the  hair-cloth  sofa  in  the  pulpit, 
leaning  his  handsome  young  head 
on  his  hand,  as  he  had  seen  old 
divines  do.  She  never  dreamed  that 
her  old  husband  sitting  beside  her 
was  possessed  of  an  inner  life  so 
strange  to  her  that  she  would  not 
have  known  him  had  she  met  him 
in  the  spirit.  And,  indeed,  it  had 
been  so  always,  and  she  had  never 
27 


EVELINA'S   GARDEN 

dreamed  of  it.  Although  he  had 
been  faithful  to  his  wife,  the  image 
of  Evelina  Adams  in  her  youth,  and 
that  one  love-look  which  she  had 
given  him,  had  never  left  his  soul, 
but  had  given  it  a  guise  and  com 
plexion  of  which  his  nearest  and 
dearest  knew  nothing. 

It  was  strange;  but  now,  as  he 
looked  up  at  his  own  son  as  he  arose 
in  the  pulpit,  he  could  seem  to  see 
a  look  of  that  fair  young  Evelina, 
who  had  never  had  a  son  to  inherit 
her  beauty.  He  had  certainly  a 
delicate  brilliancy  of  complexion, 
which  he  could  have  gotten  directly 
from  neither  father  nor  mother;  and 
whence  came  that  little  nervous 
frown  between  his  dark  blue  eyes  ? 
His  mother  had  blue  eyes,  but  not 
like  his ;  they  flashed  over  the  great 
pulpit  Bible  with  a  sweet  fire  that 
matched  the  memory  in  his  father's 
heart. 

But  the  old  man  put  the  fancy 
28 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

away  from  him  in  a  minute;  it  was 
one  which  his  stern  common-sense 
always  overcame.  It  was  impossible 
that  Thomas  Merriam  should  re 
semble  Evelina  Adams;  indeed, 
people  always  called  him  the  very 
image  of  his  father. 

The  father  tried  to  fix  his  mind 
upon  his  son's  sermon,  but  presently 
he  glanced  involuntarily  across  the 
meeting-house  at  the  young  girl,  and 
again  his  heart  leaped  and  his  face 
paled  ;  but  he  turned  his  eyes  gravely 
back  to  the  pulpit,  and  his  wife  did 
not  notice.  Now  and  then  she 
thrust  a  sharp  elbow  in  his  side  to 
call  his  attention  to  a  grand  point  in 
their  son's  discourse.  The  odor  of 
peppermint  was  strong  in  his  nostrils, 
but  through  it  all  he  seemed  to  per 
ceive  the  rose  and  lavender  scent  of 
Evelina  Adams's  youthful  garments. 
Whether  it  was  with  him  simply  the 
memory  of  an  odor,  which  affected 
him  like  the  odor  itself,  or  not,  those 
29 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

in  the  vicinity  of  the  Squire's  pew 
were  plainly  aware  of  it.  The  gown 
which  the  strange  young  girl  wore 
was,  as  many  an  old  woman  dis 
covered  to  her  neighbor  with  loud 
whispers,  one  of  Evelina's,  which 
had  been  laid  away  in  a  sweet-smell 
ing  chest  since  her  old  girlhood.  It 
had  been  somewhat  altered  to  suit 
the  fashion  of  a  later  day,  but  the 
eyes  which  had  fastened  keenly  upon 
it  when  Evelina  first  wore  it  up  the 
meeting-house  aisle  could  not  mis 
take  it.  "It  's  Evelina  Adams's 
lavender  satin  made  over,"  one  whis 
pered,  with  a  sharp  hiss  of  breath, 
in  the  other's  ear. 

The  lavender  satin,  deepening  into 
purple  in  the  folds,  swept  in  a  rich 
circle  over  the  knees  of  the  young 
girl  in  the  Squire's  pew.  She  folded 
her  little  hands,  which  were  encased 
in  Evelina's  cream-colored  silk  mitts, 
over  it,  and  looked  up  at  the  young 
minister,  and  listened  to  his  sermon 

3° 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

with  a  grave  and  innocent  dignity, 
as  Evelina  had  done  before  her. 
Perhaps  the  resemblance  between 
this  young  girl  and  the  young  girl  of 
the  past  was  more  one  of  mien  than 
aught  else,  although  the  type  of  face 
was  the  same.  This  girl  had  the 
same  fine  sharpness  of  feature  and 
delicately  bright  color,  and  she  also 
wore  her  hair  in  curls,  although  they 
were  tied  back  from  her  face  with  a 
black  velvet  ribbon,  and  did  not  veil 
it  when  she  drooped  her  head,  as 
Evelina's  used  to  do. 

The  people  divided  their  attention 
between  her  and  the  new  minister. 
Their  curiosity  goaded  them  in  equal 
measure  with  their  spiritual  zeal. 
"  I  can't  wait  to  find  out  who  that 
girl  is,"  one  woman  whispered  to 
another. 

The  girl  herself  had  no  thought  of 
the  commotion  which  she  awakened. 
When  the  service  was  over,  and 
she  walked  with  a  gentle  maiden 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

stateliness,  which  seemed  a  very 
copy  of  Evelina's  own,  out  of  the 
meeting-house,  down  the  street  to  the 
Squire's  house,  and  entered  it,  pass 
ing  under  the  stately  Corinthian  pil 
lars,  with  a  last  purple  gleam  of  her 
satin  skirts,  she  never  dreamed  of 
the  eager  attention  that  followed 
her. 

It  was  several  days  before  the 
village  people  discovered  who  she 
was.  The  information  had  to  be 
obtained,  by  a  process  like  mental 
thumb-screwing,  from  the  old  man 
who  tended  Evelina's  garden,  but  at 
last  they  knew.  She  was  the  daugh 
ter  of  a  cousin  of  Evelina's  on  the 
father's  side.  Her  name  was  Eve 
lina  Leonard ;  she  had  been  named 
for  her  father's  cousin.  She  had 
been  finely  brought  up,  and  had  at 
tended  a  Boston  school  for  young 
ladies.  Her  mother  had  been  dead 
many  years,  and  her  father  had  died 
some  two  years  ago,  leaving  her  with 

32 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

only  a  very  little  money,  which  was 
now  all  gone,  and  Evelina  Adams 
had  invited  her  to  live  with  her. 
Evelina  Adams  had  herself  told  the 
old  gardener,  seeing  his  scant  curios 
ity  was  somewhat  awakened  by  the 
sight  of  the  strange  young  lady  in 
the  garden,  but  he  seemed  to  have 
almost  forgotten  it  when  the  people 
questioned  him. 

"  She  '11  leave  her  all  her  money, 
most  likely,"  they  said,  and  they 
looked  at  this  new  Evelina  in  the 
old  Evelina's  perfumed  gowns  with 
awe. 

However,  in  the  space  of  a  few 
months  the  opinion  upon  this  mat 
ter  was  divided.  Another  cousin  of 
Evelina  Adams's  came  to  town,  and 
this  time  an  own  cousin — a  widow  in 
fine  black  bombazine,  portly  and 
florid,  walking  with  a  majestic  swell, 
and,  moreover,  having  with  her  two 
daughters,  girls  of  her  own  type, 
not  so  far  advanced.  This  woman 

33 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

hired  one  of  the  village  cottages, 
and  it  was  rumored  that  Evelina 
Adams  paid  the  rent.  Still,  it  was 
considered  that  she  was  not  very 
intimate  with  these  last  relatives. 
The  neighbors  watched,  and  saw, 
many  a  time,  Mrs.  Martha  Loomis 
and  her  girls  try  the  doors  of  the 
Adams  house,  scudding  around  an 
grily  from  front  to  side  and  back, 
and  knock  and  knock  again,  but 
with  no  admittance.  "  Evelina  she 
won't  let  none  of  'em  in  more  'n 
once  a  week,"  the  neighbors  said. 
It  was  odd  that,  although  they 
had  deeply  resented  Evelina's  se 
clusion  on  their  own  accounts,  they 
were  rather  on  her  side  in  this  mat 
ter,  and  felt  a  certain  delight  when 
they  witnessed  a  crestfallen  retreat 
of  the  widow  and  her  daughters. 
"  I  don't  s'pose  she  wants  them 
Loomises  marchin'  in  on  her  every 
minute,"  they  said. 

The  new   Evelina  was   not   seen 

34 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

much  with  the  other  cousins,  and 
she  made  no  acquaintances  in  the 
village.  Whether  she  was  to  inherit 
all  the  Adams  property  or  not,  she 
seemed,  at  any  rate,  heiress  to  all 
the  elder  Evelina's  habits  of  life. 
She  worked  with  her  in  the  garden, 
and  wore  her  old  girlish  gowns,  and 
kept  almost  as  close  at  home  as  she. 
She  often,  however,  walked  abroad 
in  the  early  dusk,  stepping  along  in 
a  grave  and  stately  fashion,  as  the 
elder  Evelina  had  used  to  do,  hold 
ing  her  skirts  away  from  the  dewy 
roadside  weeds,  her  face  showing 
out  in  the  twilight  like  a  white 
flower,  as  if  it  had  a  pale  light  of  its 
own. 

Nobody  spoke  to  her  ;  people 
turned  furtively  after  she  had  passed 
and  stared  after  her,  but  they  never 
spoke.  This  young  Evelina  did  not 
seem  to  expect  it.  She  passed  along 
with  the  lids  cast  down  over  her  blue 
eyes,  and  the  rose  and  lavender  scent 

35 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

of  her  garments  came  back  in  their 
faces. 

But  one  night  when  she  was  walk 
ing  slowly  along,  a  full  half-mile 
from  home,  she  heard  rapid  foot 
steps  behind,  and  the  young  minis 
ter,  Thomas  Merriam,  came  up 
beside  her  and  spoke. 

"  Good-evening,"  said  he,  and 
his  voice  was  a  little  hoarse  through 
nervousness. 

Evelina  started,  and  turned  her 
fair  face  up  towards  his.  "  Good- 
evening,"  she  responded,  and  courte- 
sied  as  she  had  been  taught  at  school, 
and  stood  close  to  the  wall,  that  he 
might  pass;  but  Thomas  Merriam 
paused  also. 

"  I — "  he  began,  but  his  voice 
broke.  He  cleared  his  throat  an 
grily,  and  went  on.  "  I  have  seen 
you  in  meeting,"  he  said,  with  a 
kind  of  defiance,  more  of  himself 
than  of  her.  After  all,  was  he  not 
the  minister,  and  had  he  not  the 

36 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

right  to  speak  to  everybody  in  the 
congregation  ?  Why  should  he  em 
barrass  himself  ? 

44  Yes,  sir,"  replied  Evelina.  She 
stood  drooping  her  head  before  him, 
and  yet  there  was  a  certain  delicate 
hauteur  about  her.  Thomas  was 
afraid  to  speak  again.  They  both 
stood  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then 
Evelina  stirred  softly,  as  if  to  pass 
on,  and  Thomas  spoke  out  bravely. 
44  Is  your  cousin,  Miss  Adams, 
well  ?  "  said  he. 

44  She  is  pretty  well,  I  thank  you, 
sir." 

44  I  have  been  wanting  to — call," 
he  began ;  then  he  hesitated  again. 
His  handsome  young  face  was  blush 
ing  crimson. 

Evelina's  own  color  deepened. 
She  turned  her  face  away.  "  Cousin 
Evelina  never  sees  callers,"  she  said, 
with  grave  courtesy;  4<  perhaps  you 
did  not  know.  She  has  not  for  a 
great  many  years." 

37 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

"  Yes,  I  did  know  it,"  returned 
Thomas  Merriam  ;  "  that  's  the 
reason  I  have  n't  called." 

"  Cousin  Evelina  is  not  strong," 
remarked  the  young  girl,  and  there 
was  a  savor  of  apology  in  her 
tone. 

"  But — "  stammered  Thomas; 
then  he  stopped  again.  "  May  I — 
has  she  any  objections  to — any 
body's  coming  to  see  you  ?  " 

Evelina  started.  "  I  am  afraid 
Cousin  Evelina  would  not  approve," 
she  answered,  primly.  Then  she 
looked  up  in  his  face,  and  a  girlish 
piteousness  came  into  her  own.  "  I 
am  very  sorry,"  she  said,  and  there 
was  a  catch  in  her  voice. 

Thomas  bent  over  her  impetu 
ously.  All  his  ministerial  state  fell 
from  him  like  an  outer  garment  of 
the  soul.  He  was  young,  and  he 
had  seen  this  girl  Sunday  after  Sun 
day.  He  had  written  all  his  sermons 
with  her  image  before  his  eyes, 

38 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

he  had  preached  to  her,  and  her 
only,  and  she  had  come  between  his 
heart  and  all  the  nations  of  the  earth 
in  his  prayers.  "  Oh,"  he  stam 
mered  out,  "  I  am  afraid  you  can't 
be  very  happy  living  there  the  way 
you  do.  Tell  me —  " 

Evelina  turned  her  face  away  with 
sudden  haughtiness.  "  My  cousin 
Evelina  is  very  kind  to  me,  sir,"  she 
said. 

"  But  —  you  must  be  lonesome 
with  nobody — of  your  own  age — to 
speak  to,"  persisted  Thomas,  con 
fusedly. 

"  I  never  cared  much  for  youthful 
company.  It  is  getting  dark;  I 
must  be  going,"  said  Evelina.  4  I 
wish  you  good-evening,  sir." 

"  Sha'n't  I — walk  home  with 
you  ?"  asked  Thomas,  falteringly. 

"It  is  n't  necessary,  thank  you, 
and  I  don't  think  Cousin  Evelina 
would  approve,"  she  replied,  primly  ; 
and  her  light  dress  fluttered  away 

39 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

into  the  dusk  and  out  of  sight  like 
the  pale  wing  of  a  moth. 

Poor  Thomas  Merriam  walked  on 
with  his  head  in  a  turmoiL  His 
heart  beat  loud  in  his  ears.  "  I  've 
made  her  mad  with  me,"  he  said  to 
himself,  using  the  old  rustic  school 
boy  vernacular,  from  which  he  did 
not  always  depart  in  his  thoughts, 
although  his  ministerial  dignity 
guarded  his  conversations.  Thomas 
Merriam  came  of  a  simple  homely 
stock,  whose  speech  came  from  the 
emotions  of  the  heart,  all  unregu 
lated  by  the  usages  of  the  schools. 
He  was  the  first  for  generations  who 
had  aspired  to  college  learning  and 
a  profession,  and  had  trained  his 
tongue  by  the  models  of  the  edu 
cated  and  polite.  He  could  not 
help,  at  times,  the  relapse  of  his 
thoughts,  and  their  speaking  to  him 
self  in  the  dialect  of  his  family  and 
his  ancestors.  "  She  's  'way  above 
me,  and  I  ought  to  ha'  known  it," 
40 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

he  further  said,  with  the  meekness 
of  an  humble  but  fiercely  independ 
ent  race,  which  is  meek  to  itself 
alone.  He  would  have  maintained 
his  equality  with  his  last  breath  to 
an  opponent ;  in  his  heart  of  hearts 
he  felt  himself  below  the  scion  of  the 
one  old  gentle  family  of  his  native 
village. 

This  young  Evelina,  by  the  fine 
dignity  which  had  been  born  with 
her  and  not  acquired  by  precept  and 
example,  by  the  sweetly  formal 
diction  which  seemed  her  native 
tongue,  had  filled  him  with  awe. 
Now,  when  he  thought  she  was  an 
gered  with  him,  he  felt  beneath  her 
lady  feet,  his  nostrils  choked  with  a 
spiritual  dust  of  humiliation. 

He  went  forward  blindly.  The 
dusk  had  deepened ;  from  either  side 
of  the  road,  from  the  mysterious 
gloom  of  the  bushes,  came  the  twangs 
of  the  katydids,  like  some  coarse 
rustic  quarrellers,  each  striving  for 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

the  last  word  in  a  dispute  not  even 
dignified  by  excess  of  passion. 

Suddenly  somebody  jostled  him  to 
his  , own  side  of  the  path.  '  That 
you,  Thomas  ?  Where  you  been  ?  " 
said  a  voice  in  his  ear. 

"  That  you,  father  ?  Down  to 
the  post-office." 

"  Who  was  that  you  was  talkin' 
with  back  there  ?" 

"  Miss  Evelina  Leonard." 

"  That  girl  that  's  stayin'  there 
to  the  old  Squire's  ?  " 

"  Yes."  The  son  tried  to  move 
on,  but  his  father  stood  before  him 
dumbly  for  a  minute.  "  I  must  be 
going,  father.  I  've  got  to  work  on 
my  sermon,"  Thomas  said,  im 
patiently. 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  said  his  father. 
"  I  've  got  something  to  say  to  ye, 
Thomas,  an'  this  is  as  good  a  time 
to  say  it  as  any.  There  ain't  any 
body  'round.  I  don't  know  as  ye  '11 
thank  me  for  it — but  mother  said 
42 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

the  other  day  that  she  thought 
you  'd  kind  of  an  idea — she  said  you 
asked  her  if  she  thought  it  would  be 
anything  out  of  the  way  for  you  to 
go  up  to  the  Squire's  to  make  a 
call.  Mother  she  thinks  you  can 
step  in  anywheres,  but  I  don't  know. 
I  know  your  book-learnin'  and  your 
bein'  a  minister  has  set  you  up  a 
good  deal  higher  than  your  mother 
and  me  and  any  of  our  folks,  and  I 
feel  as  if  you  were  good  enough  for 
anybody,  as  far  as  that  goes;  but 
that  ain't  all.  Some  folks  have  dif 
ferent  startin'-points  in  this  world, 
and  they  see  things  different;  and 
when  they  do,  it  ain't  much  use 
tryin'  to  make  them  walk  alongside 
and  see  things  alike.  Their  eyes  have 
got  different  cants,  and  they  ain't 
able  to  help  it.  Now  this  girl  she  's 
related  to  the  old  Squire,  and 
she  's  been  brought  up  different,  and 
she  started  ahead,  even  if  her  father 
did  lose  all  his  property.  She'ain't 

43 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

never  eat  in  the  kitchen,  nor  been 
scart  to  set  down  in  the  parlor,  and 
satin  and  velvet,  and  silver  spoons, 
and  cream-pots  'ain't  never  looked 
anything  out  of  the  common  to  her, 
and  they  always  will  to  you.  No 
matter  how  many  such  things  you 
may  live  to  have,  they  '11  always  get 
a  little  the  better  of  ye.  She  '11  be 
'way  above  'em ;  and  you  won't,  no 
matter  how  hard  you  try.  Some 
ideas  can't  never  mix;  and  when 
ideas  can't  mix,  folks  can't." 

"  I  never  said  they  could,"  re 
turned  Thomas,  shortly.  "  I  can't 
stop  to  talk  any  longer,  father.  I 
must  go  home." 

"  No,  you  wait  a  minute,  Thomas. 
I  'm  goin'  to  say  out  what  I  started 
to,  and  then  I  sha'n't  ever  bring  it 
up  again.  What  I  was  comin*  at 
was  this :  I  wanted  to  warn  ye  a 
little.  You  must  n't  set  too  much 
store  by  little  things  that  you  think 
mean  consider'ble  when  they  don't. 

44 


EVELINA'S   GARDEN 

Looks  don't  count  for  much,  and  I 
want  you  to  remember  it,  and  not  be 
upset  by  'em." 

Thomas  gave  a  great  start  and 
colored  high.  "  I  'd  like  to  know 
what  you  mean,  father,"  he  cried, 
sharply. 

44  Nothin'.  I  don't  mean  nothin', 
only  I  'm  older  'n  you,  and  it  's 
come  in  my  way  to  know  some 
things,  and  it  's  fittin'  you  should 
profit  by  it.  A  young  woman's  looks 
at  you  don't  count  for  much.  I 
don't  s'pose  she  knows  why  she 
gives  'em  herself  half  the  time;  they 
ain't  like  us.  It  's  best  you  should 
make  up  your  mind  to  it;  if  you 
don't,  you  may  find  it  out  by  the 
hardest.  That  's  all.  I  ain't  never 
goin'  to  bring  this  up  again." 

"I  'd  like  to  know  what  you 
mean,  father."  Thomas's  voice 
shook  with  embarrassment  and 
anger. 

44  I    ain't  goin'    to    say  anything 

45 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

more  about  it,"  replied  the  old  man. 
"  Mary  Ann  Pease  and  Arabella 
Mann  are  both  in  the  settin'-room 
with  your  mother.  I  thought  I  'd 
tell  ye,  in  case  ye  did  n't  want  to 
see  'em,  and  wanted  to  go  to  work 
on  your  sermon." 

Thomas  made  an  impatient  ejacu 
lation  as  he  strode  off.  When  he 
reached  the  large  white  house  where 
he  lived  he  skirted  it  carefully.  The 
chirping  treble  of  girlish  voices  came 
from  the  open  sitting-room  window, 
and  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  smooth 
brown  head  and  a  high  shell  comb 
in  front  of  the  candle-light.  The 
young  minister  tiptoed  in  the  back 
door  and  across  the  kitchen  to  the 
back  stairs.  The  sitting-room  door 
was  open,  and  the  candle-light 
streamed  out,  and  the  treble  voices 
rose  high.  Thomas,  advancing 
through  the  dusky  kitchen  with 
cautious  steps,  encountered  sud 
denly  a  chair  in  the  dark  corner  by 
46 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN' 

the  stairs,  and  just  saved  himself 
from  falling.  There  was  a  startled 
outcry  from  the  sitting-room,  and 
his  mother  came  running  into  the 
kitchen  with  a  candle. 

'Who  is  it?"  she  demanded, 
valiantly.  Then  she  started  and 
gasped  as  her  son  confronted  her. 
He  shook  a  furious  warning  fist  at 
the  sitting-room  door  and  his  mother, 
and  edged  towards  the  stairs.  She 
followed  him  close.  "  Had  n't  you 
better  jest  step  in  a  minute  ?  "  she 
whispered.  '  Them  girls  have  been 
here  an  hour,  and  I  know  they  're 
waitin'  to  see  you. ' '  Thomas  shook 
his  head  fiercely,  and  swung  himself 
around  the  corner  into  the  dark 
crook  of  the  back  stairs.  His  mother 
thrust  the  candle  into  his  hand. 
'  Take  this,  or  you  '11  break  your 
neck  on  them  stairs,"  she  whispered. 
Thomas,  stealing  up  the  stairs 
like  a  cat,  heard  one  of  the  girls  call 
to  his  mother — "  Is  it  robbers,  Mis' 

47 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

Merriam  ?  Want  us  to  come  an* 
help  tackle  'em?" — and  he  fairly 
shuddered  ;  for  Evelina's  gentle-lady 
speech  was  still  in  his  ears,  and  this 
rude  girlish  call  seemed  to  jar  upon 
his  sensibilities. 

The  idea  of  any  girl  screeching 

out  like  that,"  he  muttered.     And 

if  he  had  carried  speech  as  far  as  his 

thought,    he    would    have    added, 

"  when  Evelina  is  a  girl!  " 

He  was  so  angry  that  he  did  not 
laugh  when  he  heard  his  mother  an 
swer  back,  in  those  conclusive  tones 
of  hers  that  were  wont  to  silence  all 
argument  :  "  It  ain't  anything. 
Don't  be  scared.  I  'm  coming  right 
back."  Mrs.  Merriam  scorned  sub 
terfuges.  She  took  always  a  silent 
stand  in  a  difficulty,  and  let  people 
infer  what  they  would.  When  Mary 
Ann  Pease  inquired  if  it  was  the  cat 
that  had  made  the  noise,  she  asked 
if  her  mother  had  finished  her  blue 
and  white  counterpane. 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

The  two  girls  waited  a  half-hour 
longer,  then  they  went  home. 
'  What  do  you  s'pose  made  that 
noise  out  in  the  kitchen  ?"  asked 
Arabella  Mann  of  Mary  Ann  Pease, 
the  minute  they  were  out-of-doors. 

;<  I  don't  know,"  replied  Mary 
Ann  Pease.  She  was  a  broad-backed 
young  girl,  and  looked  like  a  matron 
as  she  hurried  along  in  the  dusk. 

"  Well,  I  know  what  I  think  it 
was,"  said  Arabella  Mann,  moving 
ahead  with  sharp  jerks  of  her  little 
dark  body. 

11  What  ?" 

"  It  was  him." 
'  You  don't  mean —  " 

"  I  think  it  was  Thomas  Merriam, 
and  he  was  try  in'  to  get  up  the  back 
stairs  unbeknownst  to  anybody,  and 
he  run  into  something." 

"  What  for?" 

"  Because  he  did  n't  want  to  see 
us." 

"  Now,   Arabella  Mann,    I  don't 

49 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

believe  it !     He  's  always  real  pleas 
ant  to  me." 

"  Well,  I  do  believe  it,  and  I 
guess  he  '11  know  it  when  I  set  foot 
in  that  house  again.  I  guess  he  '11 
find  out  I  did  n't  go  there  to  see 
him  !  He  need  n't  feel  so  fine,  if  he 
is  the  minister;  his  folks  ain't  any 
better  than  mine,  an'  we  've  got 
'nough  sight  handsomer  furniture  in 
our  parlor." 

Did  you  see  how  the  tallow  had 
all  run  down  over  the  candles  ?  " 

' '  Yes,  I  did.  She  gave  that  candle 
she  carried  out  in  the  kitchen  to  him, 
too.  Mother  says  she  was  n't  never 
any  kind  of  a  housekeeper." 

Hush  !    Arabella  :    here    he   is 
coming  now." 

But  it  was  not  Thomas;  it  was  his 
father,  advancing  through  the  eve 
ning  with  his  son's  gait  and  carriage. 
When  the  two  girls  discovered  that, 
one  tittered  out  quite  audibly,  and 
they  scuttled  past.  They  were  not 

5° 


E  VELINA  '  S   CA  RDK.\ ' 

rivals;  they  simply  walked  faithfully- 
side  by  side  in  pursuit  of  the  young 
minister,  giving  him  as  it  were  an 
impartial  choice.  There  were  even 
no  heart-burnings  between  them ; 
one  always  confided  in  the  other 
when  she  supposed  herself  to  have 
found  some  slight  favor  in  Thomas's 
sight;  and,  indeed,  the  young  min 
ister  could  scarcely  bow  to  one  upon 
the  street  unless  she  flew  to  the  other 
with  the  news. 

Thomas  Merriam  himself  was 
aware  of  all  this  devotion  on  the 
part  of  the  young  women  of  his 
flock,  and  it  filled  him  with  a  sort 
of  angry  shame.  He  could  not 
have  told  why,  but  he  despised 
himself  for  being  the  object  of  their 
attention  more  than  he  despised 
them.  His  heart  sank  at  the  idea 
of  Evelina's  discovering  it.  What 
would  she  think  of  him  if  she  knew 
all  those  young  women  haunted  his 
house  and  lagged  after  meeting  on 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

the  chance  of  getting  a  word  from 
him  ?  Suppose  she  should  see  their 
eyes  upon  his  face  in  meeting  time, 
and  decipher  their  half-unconscious 
boldness,  as  he  had  done  against  his 
will.  Once  Evelina  had  looked  at 
him,  even  as  the  older  Evelina  had 
looked  at  his  father,  and  all  other 
looks  of  maidens  seemed  to  him  like 
profanations  of  that,  even  although 
he  doubted  afterwards  that  he  had 
rightly  interpreted  it.  Full  it  had 
seemed  to  him  of  that  tender  maiden 
surprise  and  wonder,  of  that  love 
that  knows  not  itself,  and  sees  its 
own  splendor  for  the  first  time  in 
another's  face,  and  flees  at  the  sight. 
It  had  happened  once  when  he  was 
coming  down  the  aisle  after  the  ser 
mon  and  Evelina  had  met  him  at  the 
door  of  her  pew.  But  she  had  turned 
her  head  quickly,  and  her  soft  curls 
flowed  over  her  red  cheek,  and  he 
doubted  ever  after  if  he  had  read 
the  look  aright.  When  he  had 

52 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

gotten  the  courage  to  speak  to  her, 
and  she  had  met  him  with  the  gentle 
coldness  which  she  had  learned  of 
her  lady  aunt   and   her   teacher   in 
Boston,  his  doubt  was  strong  upon 
him.     The  next  Sunday  he  looked 
not  her  way  at  all.     He  even  tried 
faithfully  from  day  to  day  to  drive 
her  image  from  his  mind  with  prayer 
and  religious  thoughts,  but  in  spite 
of  himself  he  would  lapse  into  dreams 
about  her,  as  if  borne  by  a  current  of 
nature    too    strong   to    be    resisted. 
And  sometimes,   upon  being  awak 
ened  from  them,  as  he  sat  over  his 
sermon  with  the  ink  drying  on  his 
quill,    by    the    sudden    outburst    of 
treble  voices  in  his  mother's  sitting- 
room  below,  the  fancy  would  seize 
him  that  possibly  these  other  young 
damsels  took  fond  liberties  with  him 
in  their  dreams,  as  he  with  Evelina, 
and    he    resented    it    with    a    fierce 
maidenliness  of  spirit,   although  he 
was    a    man.       The    thought    that 

53 


EVELINA'S   GARDEN 

possibly  they,  over  their  spinning  or 
their  quilting,  had  in  their  hearts  the 
image  of  himself  with  fond  words 
upon  his  lips  and  fond  looks  in  his 
eyes,  filled  him  with  shame  and  rage, 
although  he  took  the  same  liberty 
with  the  delicately  haughty  maiden 
Evelina. 

But  Thomas  Merriam  was  not 
given  to  undue  appreciation  of  his 
own  fascination,  as  was  proved  by 
his  ready  discouragement  in  the  case 
of  Evelina.  He  had  the  knowledge 
of  his  conquests  forced  upon  his 
understanding  until  he  could  no 
longer  evade  it.  Every  day  were 
offerings  laid  upon  his  shrine,  of 
pound-cakes  and  flaky  pies,  and 
loaves  of  white  bread,  and  cups  of 
jelly,  whereby  the  culinary  skill  of 
his  devotees  might  be  proved. 
Silken  purses  and  beautiful  socks 
knitted  with  fancy  stitches,  and  holy 
book-marks  Tor  his  Bible,  and  even 
a  wonderful  bedquilt,  and  a  fine 

54 


EVELINA'S   GARDEN 

linen  shirt  with  hem-stitched  bands, 
poured   in   upon    him.     He  burned 
with  angry  blushes  when  his  mother, 
smiling  meaningly,  passed  them  over 
to  him.     "  Put  them  away,  mother; 
I  don't  want  them,"  he  would  growl 
out,  in  a  distress  that  was  half  comic 
and  half  pathetic.     He  would  never 
taste  of  the  tempting  viands  which 
were  brought  to  him.     "  How  you 
act,   Thomas!"    his  mother  would 
say.      She   was   secretly    elated   by 
these  feminine   libations   upon   the 
altar  of  her  son.     They  did  not  grate 
upon  her   sensibilities,   which  were 
not    delicate.     She    even    tried    to 
assist   two  or   three    of   the   young 
women  in  their  designs;  she  would 
often  praise  them  and  their  handi 
work  to  her  son — and  in  this  she  was 
aided  by  an  old  woman  aunt  of  hers 
who  lived  with  the  family.      '  Nancy 
Winslow  is  as  handsome  a  girl  as 
ever  I  set  eyes  on,  an'  I  never  see 
any    nicer   sewin',"    Mrs.    Merriam 

55 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

said,  after  the  advent  of  the  linen 
shirt,  and  she  held  it  up  to  the  light 
admiringly.  "  Jest  look  at  that 
hem-stitchin' !  "  she  said. 

"  I  guess  whoever  made  that  shirt 
calkilated  't  would  do  for  a  weddin' 
one,"  said  old  Aunt  Betty  Green, 
and  Thomas  made  an  exclamation 
and  went  out  of  the  room,  tingling 
all  over  with  shame  and  disgust. 

"  Thomas  don't  act  nateral,"  said 
the  old  woman,  glancing  after 
him  through  her  iron-bound  spec 
tacles. 

"  I  dun'no'  what  's  got  into  him," 
returned  his  mother. 

"  Mebbe  they  foller  him  up  a 
leetle  too  close,"  said  Aunt  Betty. 
"  I  dun'no'  as  I  should  have  ven 
tured  on  a  shirt  when  I  was  a  gal. 
I  made  a  satin  vest  once  for  Joshua, 
but  that  don't  seem  quite  as  p'inted 
as  a  shirt.  It  did  n't  scare  Joshua, 
nohow.  He  asked  me  to  have  him 
the  next  week. 

56 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

"  Well,  I  dun'no',"  said  Mrs. 
Merriam  again.  "  I  kind  of  wish 
Thomas  would  settle  on  somebody, 
for  I  'm  pestered  most  to  death  with 
'em,  an'  I  feel  as  if  't  was  kind  of 
mean  takin'  all  these  things  into  the 
house." 

"  They  've  'bout  kept  ye  in  sweet 
cake,  'ain't  they,  lately  ?  " 

"  Yes;  but  I  don't  feel  as  if  it  was 
jest  right  for  us  to  eat  it  up,  when 
't  was  brought  for  Thomas.  But  he 
won't  touch  it.  I  can't  see  as  he 
has  the  least  idee  of  any  one  of  them. 
I  don't  believe  Thomas  has  ever 
seen  anybody  he  wanted  for  a 
wife." 

"  Well,  he  's  got  the  pick  of  'em, 
a-settin'  their  caps  right  in  his  face," 
said  Aunt  Betty. 

Neither  of  them  dreamed  how  the 
young  man,  sleeping  and  eating  and 
living  under  the  same  roof,  beloved 
of  them  since  he  entered  the  world, 
holding  himself  coldly  aloof  from 

57 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

this  crowd  of  half-innocently,  half- 
boldly  ardent  young  women,  had  set 
up  for  himself  his  own  divinity  of 
love,  before  whom  he  consumed  him 
self  in  vain  worship.  His  father 
suspected,  and  that  was  all,  and  he 
never  mentioned  the  matter  again  to 
his  son. 

After  Thomas  had  spoken  to  Eve 
lina  the  weeks  went  on,  and  they 
never  exchanged  another  word,  and 
their  eyes  never  met.  But  they 
dwelt  constantly  within  each  other's 
thoughts,  and  were  ever  present  to 
each  other's  spiritual  vision.  Al 
ways  as  the  young  minister  bent 
over  his  sermon-paper,  laboriously 
tracing  out  with  sputtering  quill  his 
application  of  the  articles  of  the 
orthodox  faith,  Evelina's  blue  eyes 
seemed  to  look  out  at  him  between 
the  stern  doctrines  like  the  eyes  of 
an  angel.  And  he  could  not  turn 
the  pages  of  the  Holy  Writ  unless 
he  found  some  passage  therein  which 

53 


£  VELINA  '  S  GA  RDEN 

to  his  mind  treated  directly  of  her, 
setting  forth  her  graces  like  a  proph 
ecy.  '  The  fairest  among  women," 
read  Thomas  Merriam,  and  nodded 
his  head,  while  his  heart  leaped  with 
the  satisfied  delight  of  all  its  fancies, 
at  the  image  of  his  love's  fair  and 
gentle  face.  "  Her  price  is  far 
above  rubies,"  read  Thomas  Mer 
riam,  and  he  nodded  his  head  again, 
and  saw  Evelina  shining  as  with  gold 
and  pearls,  more  precious  than  all 
the  jewels  of  the  earth.  In  spite  of 
all  his  efforts,  when  Thomas  Mer 
riam  studied  the  Scriptures  in  those 
days  he  was  more  nearly  touched 
by  those  old  human  hearts  which 
throbbed  down  to  his  through  the 
ages,  welding  the  memories  of  their 
old  loves  to  his  living  one  until  they 
seemed  to  prove  its  eternity,  than 
by  the  Messianic  prophecies.  Often 
he  spent  hours  upon  his  knees,  but 
arose  with  Evelina's  face  before  his 
very  soul  in  spite  of  all. 

59 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

And  as  for  Evelina,  she  tended  the 
flowers  in  the  elder  Evelina's  garden 
with  her  poor  cousin,  whose  own 
love-dreams  had  been  illustrated  as 
it  were  by  the  pinks  and  lilies  bloom 
ing  around  them  when  they  had  all 
gone  out  of  her  heart,  and  Thomas 
Merriam's  half-bold,  half-imploring 
eyes  looked  up  at  her  out  of  every 
flower  and  stung  her  heart  like  bees. 
Poor  young  Evelina  feared  much 
lest  she  had  offended  Thomas,  and 
yet  her  own  maiden  decorum  had 
been  offended  by  him,  and  she  had 
offended  it  herself,  and  she  was  faint 
with  shame  and  distress  when  she 
thought  of  it.  How  had  she  been 
so  bold  and  shameless  as  to  give  him 
that  look  at  the  meeting-house  ?  and 
how  had  he  been  so  cruel  as  to 
accost  her  afterwards  ?  She  told 
herself  she  had  done  right  for  the 
maintenance  of  her  own  maiden 
dignity,  and  yet  she  feared  lest  she 
had  angered  him  and  hurt  him. 
60 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

"  Suppose  he  had  been  fretted  by 
her  coolness?"  she  thought,  and 
then  a  grqat  wave  of  tender  pity- 
went  over  her  heart,  and  she  would 
almost  have  spoken  to  him  of  her 
own  accord.  But  then  she  would 
reflect  how  he  continued  to  write 
such  beautiful  sermons,  and  prove 
so  clearly  and  logically  the  tenets  of 
the  faith ;  and  how  could  he  do  that 
with  a  mind  in  distress  ?  Scarcely 
could  she  herself  tend  the  flower 
beds  as  she  should,  nor  set  her  em 
broidery  stitches  finely  and  evenly, 
she  was  so  ill  at  ease.  It  must  be 
that  Thomas  had  not  given  the  mat 
ter  an  hour's  worry,  since  he  con 
tinued  to  do  his  work  so  faithfully 
and  well.  And  then  her  own  heart 
would  be  sorer  than  ever  with  the 
belief  that  his  was  happy  and  at 
rest,  although  she  would  chide  her 
self  for  it. 

And  yet  this  young  Evelina  was  a 
philosopher  and  an  analyst  of  human 
61 


EVELINA'S   GARDEN 

nature  in  a  small  way,  and  she  got 
some  slight  comfort  out  of  a  shrewd 
suspicion  that  the  heart  of  a  man 
might  love  and  suffer  on  a  somewhat 
different  principle  from  the  heart  of 
a  woman.  !<  It  may  be,"  thought 
Evelina,  sitting  idle  over  her  em 
broidery  with  far-away  blue  eyes, 
"  that  a  man's  heart  can  always  turn 
a  while  from  love  to  other  things  as 
weighty  and  serious,  although  he  be 
just  as  fond,  while  a  woman's  heart 
is  always  fixed  one  way  by  loving, 
and  cannot  be  turned  unless  it  breaks. 
And  it  may  be  wise, ' '  thought  young 
Evelina,  "  else  how  could  the  state 
be  maintained  and  governed,  battles 
for  independence  be  fought,  and 
even  souls  be  saved,  and  the  gospel 
carried  to  the  heathen,  if  men  could 
not  turn  from  the  concerns  of  their 
own  hearts  more  easily  than  women  ? 
Women  should  be  patient,"  thought 
Evelina,  "  and  consider  that  if  they 
suffer  't  is  due  to  the  lot  which  a 
62 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

wise  Providence  has  given  them." 
And  yet  tears  welled  up  in  her  ear 
nest  blue  eyes  and  fell  over  her  fair 
cheeks  and  wet  the  embroidery — 
when  the  elder  Evelina  was  not  look 
ing,  as  she  seldom  was.  The  elder 
Evelina  was  kind  to  her  young 
cousin,  but  there  were  days  when 
she  seemed  to  dwell  alone  in  her 
own  thoughts,  apart  from  the 
whole  world,  and  she  seldom  spoke 
either  to  Evelina  or  her  old  servant- 
man. 

Young  Evelina,  trying  to  atone 
for  her  former  indiscretion  and  es 
tablish  herself  again  on  her  height  of 
maiden  reserve  in  Thomas  Merriam's 
eyes,  sat  resolutely  in  the  meeting 
house  of  a  Sabbath  day,  with  her 
eyes  cast  down,  and  after  service  she 
glided  swiftly  down  the  aisle  and 
was  out  of  the  door  before  the  young 
minister  could  much  more  than  de 
scend  the  pulpit  stairs,  unless  he  ran 
an  indecorous  race. 

63 


EVELINA'S   GARDEN 

And  young  Evelina  never  at  twi 
light  strolled  up  the  road  in  the  di 
rection  of  Thomas  Merriam's  home, 
where  she  might  quite  reasonably 
hope  to  meet  him,  since  he  was  wont 
to  go  to  the  store  when  the  evening 
stage-coach  came  in  with  the  mail 
from  Boston. 

Instead  she  paced  the  garden 
paths,  or,  when  there  was  not  too 
heavy  a  dew,  rambled  across  the 
fields;  and  there  was  also  a  lane 
where  she  loved  to  walk.  Whether 
or  not  Thomas  Merriam  suspected 
this,  or  had  ever  seen,  as  he  passed 
the  mouth  of  the  lane,  the  flutter  of 
maidenly  draperies  in  the  distance, 
it  so  happened  that  one  evening  he 
also  went  a-walking  there,  and  met 
Evelina.  He  had  entered  the  lane 
from  the  highway,  and  she  from  the 
fields  at  the  head.  So  he  saw  her 
first  afar  off,  and  could  not  tell  fairly 
whether  her  light  muslin  skirt  might 
not  be  only  a  white-flowering  bush. 
64 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

For,  since  his  outlook  upon  life  had 
been  so  full  of  Evelina,  he  had  found 
that  often  the  most  common  and 
familiar  things  would  wear  for  a 
second  a  look  of  her  to  startle  him. 
And  many  a  time  his  heart  had 
leaped  at  the  sight  of  a  white  bush 
ahead  stirring  softly  in  the  evening 
wind,  and  he  had  thought  it  might 
be  she.  Now  he  said  to  himself  im 
patiently  that  this  was  only  another 
fancy;  but  soon  he  saw  that  it  was 
indeed  Evelina,  in  a  light  muslin 
gown,  with  a  little  lace  kerchief  on 
her  head.  His  handsome  young  face 
was  white;  his  lips  twitched  nerv 
ously  ;  but  he  reached  out  and  pulled 
a  spray  of  white  flowers  from  a  bush, 
and  swung  it  airily  to  hide  his  agita 
tion  as  he  advanced. 

As  for  Evelina,  when  she  first 
espied  Thomas  she  started  and  half 
turned,  as  if  to  go  back;  then  she 
held  up  her  white-kerchiefed  head 
with  gentle  pride  and  kept  on.  When 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

she  came  up  to  Thomas  she  walked 
so  far  to  one  side  that  her  muslin 
skirt  was  in  danger  of  catching  and 
tearing  on  the  bushes,  and  she  never 
raised  her  eyes,  and  not  a  flicker  of 
recognition  stirred  her  sweet  pale 
face  as  she  passed  him. 

But  Thomas  started  as  if  she  had 
struck  him,  and  dropped  his  spray 
of  white  flowers,  and  could  not  help 
a  smothered  cry  that  was  half  a  sob, 
as  he  went  on,  knocking  blindly 
against  the  bushes.  He  went  a  little 
way,  then  he  stopped  and  looked 
back  with  his  piteous  hurt  eyes. 
And  Evelina  had  stopped  also,  and 
she  had  the  spray  of  white  flowers 
which  he  had  dropped,  in  her  hand, 
and  her  eyes  met  his.  Then  she  let 
the  flowers  fall  again,  and  clapped 
both  her  little  hands  to  her  face  to 
cover  it,  and  turned  to  run ;  but 
Thomas  was  at  her  side,  and  he  put 
out  his  hand  and  held  her  softly  by 
her  white  arm. 

66 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

"  Oh,"  he  panted,  "  I— did  not 
mean  to  be — too  presuming,  and 
offend  you.  I — crave  your  par 
don—" 

Evelina  had  recovered  herself. 
She  stood  with  her  little  hands 
clasped,  and  her  eyes  cast  down  be 
fore  him ;  but  not  a  quiver  stirred 
her  pale  face,  which  seemed  turned 
to  marble  by  this  last  effort  of  her 
maiden  pride.  "  I  have  nothing  to 
pardon,"  said  she.  '  It  was  I, 
whose  bold  behavior,  unbecoming 
a  modest  and  well-trained  young 
woman,  gave  rise  to  what  seemed 
like  presumption  on  your  part." 
The  sense  of  justice  was  strong 
within  her,  but  she  made  her  speech 
haughtily  and  primly,  as  if  she  had 
learned  it  by  rote  from  some  maiden 
school-mistress,  and  pulled  her  arm 
away  and  turned  to  go ;  but  Thomas's 
words  stopped  her. 

Not — unbecoming  if  it  came — 
from  the  heart,"  said  he,  brokenly, 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

scarcely  daring   to   speak,    and   yet 
not  daring  to  be  silent. 

Then  Evelina  turned  on  him,  with 
a  sudden  strange  pride  that  lay  be 
neath  all  other  pride,  and  was  of  a 
nobler  and  truer  sort.  ;<  Do  you 
think  I  would  have  given  you  the 
look  that  I  did  if  it  had  not  come 
from  my  heart  ?  "  she  demanded. 
'  What  did  you  take  me  to  be — false 
and  a  jilt  ?  I  may  be  a  forward 
young  woman,  who  has  overstepped 
the  bounds  of  maidenly  decorum, 
and  I  shall  never  get  over  the  shame 
of  it,  but  I  am  truthful,  and  I  am  no 
jilt. ' '  The  brilliant  color  flamed  out 
on  Evelina's  cheeks.  Her  blue  eyes 
met  Thomas's  with  that  courage  of 
innocence  and  nature  which  dares  all 
shame.  But  it  was  only  for  a  second; 
the  tears  sprang  into  them.  "  I  beg 
you  to  let  me  go  home,"  she  said, 
pitifully;  but  Thomas  caught  her  in 
his  arms,  and  pressed  her  troubled 
maiden  face  against  his  breast. 
68 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

"  Oh,  I  love  you  so!  "  he  whis 
pered — "  I  love  you  so,  Evelina, 
and  I  was  afraid  you  were  angry 
with  me  for  it." 

"  And  I  was  afraid,"  she  faltered, 
half  weeping  and  half  shrinking  from 
him,  "  lest  you  were  angry  with  me 
for  betraying  the  state  of  my  feel 
ings,  when  you  could  not  return 
them."  And  even  then  she  used 
that  gentle  formality  of  expression 
with  which  she  had  been  taught  by 
her  maiden  preceptors  to  veil  de 
corously  her  most  ardent  emotions. 
And,  in  truth,  her  training  stood  her 
in  good  stead  in  other  ways;  for  she 
presently  commanded,  with  that 
mild  dignity  of  hers  which  allowed 
of  no  remonstrance,  that  Thomas 
should  take  away  his  arm  from  her 
waist,  and  give  her  no  more  kisses  for 
that  time. 

"  It  is  not  becoming  for  any  one," 
said  she,  "  and  much  less  for  a  min 
ister  of  the  gospel.  And  as  for 
69 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

myself,  I  know  not  what  Mistress 
Perkins  would  say  to  me.  She  has 
a  mind  much  above  me,  I  fear.*' 

Mistress  Perkins  is  enjoying  her 
mind  in  Boston,"  said  Thomas  Mer- 
riam,  with  the  laugh  of  a  triumphant 
young  lover. 

But  Evelina  did  not  laugh.  "  It 
might  be  well  for  both  you  and  me 
if  she  were  here,"  said  she,  seriously. 
However,  she  tempered  a  little  her 
decorous  following  of  Mistress  Per 
kins's  precepts,  and  she  and  Thomas 
went  hand  in  hand  up  the  lane  and 
across  the  fields. 

There  was  no  dew  that  night,  and 
the  moon  was  full.  It  was  after 
nine  o'clock  when  Thomas  left  her 
at  the  gate  in  the  fence  which  sepa 
rated  Evelina  Adams's  garden  from 
the  field,  and  watched  her  disappear 
between  the  flowers.  The  moon 
shone  full  on  the  garden.  Evelina 
walked  as  it  were  over  a  silver  dapple, 
which  her  light  gown  seemed  to 
70 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

brush  away  and  dispel  for  a  mo 
ment.  The  bushes  stood  in  sweet 
mysterious  clumps  of  shadow. 

Evelina  had  almost  reached  the 
house,  and  was  close  to  the  great 
althea  bush,  which  cast  a  wide  circle 
of  shadow,  when  it  seemed  suddenly 
to  separate  and  move  into  life. 

The  elder  Evelina  stepped  out 
from  the  shadow  of  the  bush.  '  Is 
that  you,  Evelina  ?  "  she  said,  \n  her 
soft,  melancholy  voice,  which  had  in 
it  a  nervous  vibration. 

"  Yes,  Cousin  Evelina." 

The  elder  Evelina's  pale  face, 
drooped  about  with  gray  curls,  had 
an  unfamiliar,  almost  uncanny,  look- 
in  the  moonlight,  and  might  have 
been  the  sorrowful  visage  of  some 
marble  nymph,  lovelorn,  with  un 
ceasing  grace.  "  Who — was  with 
you  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  The  minister,"  replied  young 
Evelina. 

"  Did  he  meet  you  ?  " 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

He  met  me  in  the  lane,  Cousin 
Evelina." 

"  And  he  walked  home  with  you 
across  the  field  ?  " 

'  Yes,  Cousin  Evelina." 

Then  the  two  entered  the  house, 
and  nothing  more  was  said  about  the 
matter.  Young  Evelina  and  Thomas 
Merriam  agreed  that  their  affection 
was  to  be  kept  a  secret  for  a  while. 
"  For,"  said  young  Evelina,  <v  I 
cannot  leave  Cousin  Evelina  yet 
a  while,  and  I  cannot  have  her  pes 
tered  with  thinking  about  it,  at  least 
before  another  spring,  when  she  has 
the  garden  fairly  growing  again." 

'  That  is  nearly  a  whole  year;  it 
is  August  now,"  said  Thomas,  half 
reproachfully,  and  he  tightened  his 
clasp  of  Evelina's  slender  fingers. 

"  I  cannot  help  that,"  replied 
Evelina.  "It  is  for  you  to  show 
Christian  patience  more  than  I, 
Thomas.  If  you  could  have  seen 
poor  Cousin  Evelina,  as  I  have  seen 
72 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

her,  through  the  long  winter  days, 
when  her  garden  is  dead,  and  she 
has  only  the  few  plants  in  her  win 
dow  left !  When  she  is  not  watering 
and  tending  them  she  sits  all  day  in 
the  window  and  looks  out  over  the 
garden  and  the  naked  bushes  and 
the  withered  flower-stalks.  She  used 
not  to  be  so,  but  would  read  her 
Bible  and  good  books,  and  busy  her 
self  somewhat  over  fine  needle-work, 
and  at  one  time  she  was  compiling  a 
little  floral  book,  giving  a  list  of  the 
flowers,  and  poetical  selections  and 
sentiments  appropriate  to  each. 
That  was  her  pastime  for  three  win 
ters,  and  it  is  now  nearly  done ;  but 
she  has  given  that  up,  and  all  the 
rest,  and  sits  there  in  the  window 
and  grows  older  and  feebler  until 
spring.  It  is  only  I  who  can  divert 
her  mind,  by  reading  aloud  to  her 
and  singing;  and  sometimes  I  paint 
the  flowers  she  loves  the  best  on 
card-board  with  water-colors.  I  have 

73 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

a  poor  skill  in  it,  but  Cousin  Evelina 
can  tell  which  flower  I  have  tried  to 
represent,  and  it  pleases  her  greatly. 
I  have  even  seen  her  smile.  No,  I 
cannot  leave  her,  nor  even  pester  her 
with  telling  her  before  another 
spring,  and  you  must  wait,  Thomas," 
said  young  Evelina. 

And  Thomas  agreed,  as  he  was 
likely  to  do  to  all  which  she  pro 
posed  which  touched  not  his  own 
sense  of  right  and  honor.  Young 
Evelina  gave  Thomas  one  more  kiss 
for  his  earnest  pleading,  and  that 
night  wrote  out  the  tale  in  her  jour 
nal.  "  It  may  be  that  I  overstepped 
the  bounds  of  maidenly  decorum," 
wrote  Evelina,  "  but  my  heart  did 
so  entreat  me,"  and  no  blame  what 
ever  did  she  lay  upon  Thomas. 

Young  Evelina  opened  her  heart 
only  to  her  journal,  and  her  cousin 
was  told  nothing,  and  had  little 
cause  for  suspicion.  Thomas  Mer- 
riam  never  came  to  the  house  to  see 

74 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

his  sweetheart;  he  never  walked 
home  with  her  from  meeting.  Both 
were  anxious  to  avoid  village  gossip, 
until  the  elder  Evelina  could  be  told. 

Often  in  the  summer  evenings  the 
lovers  met,  and  strolled  hand  in 
hand  across  the  fields,  and  parted 
at  the  garden  gate  with  the  one 
kiss  which  Evelina  allowed,  and  that 
was  all. 

Sometimes  when  young  Evelina 
came  in  with  her  lover's  kiss  still 
warm  upon  her  lips  the  elder  Evelina 
looked  at  her  wistfully,  with  a 
strange  retrospective  expression  in 
her  blue  eyes,  as  if  she  were  striving 
to  remember  something  that  the 
girl's  face  called  to  mind.  And  yet 
she  could  have  had  nothing  to  re 
member  except  dreams. 

And  once,  when  young  Evelina 
sat  sewing  through  a  long  summer 
afternoon  and  thinking  about  her 
lover,  the  elder  Evelina,  who  was 
storing  rose  leaves  mixed  with  sweet 

75 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

spices  in  a  jar,  said,  suddenly,  "  He 
looks  as  his  father  used  to." 

Young  Evelina  started.  "Whom 
do  you  mean,  Cousin  Evelina  ?  "  she 
asked,  wonderingly ;  for  the  elder 
Evelina  had  not  glanced  at  her,  nor 
even  seemed  to  address  her  at  all. 

"  Nothing,"  said  the  elder  Eve 
lina,  and  a  soft  flush  stole  over  her 
withered  face  and  neck,  and  she 
sprinkled  more  cassia  on  the  rose 
leaves  in  the  jar. 

Young  Evelina  said  no  more; 
but  she  wondered,  partly  because 
Thomas  was  always  in  her  mind, 
and  it  seemed  to  her  naturally  that 
nearly  everything  must  have  a  savor 
of  meaning  of  him,  if  her  cousin 
Evelina  could  possibly  have  referred 
to  him  and  his  likeness  to  his  father. 
For  it  was  commonly  said  that 
Thomas  looked  very  like  his  father, 
although  his  figure  was  different. 
The  young  man  was  taller  and  more 
firmly  built,  and  he  had  not  the 
76 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

meek  forward  curve  of  shoulder 
which  had  grown  upon  his  father  of 
late  years. 

When  the  frosty  nights  came 
Thomas  and  Evelina  could  not  meet 
and  walk  hand  in  hand  over  the 
fields  behind  the  Squire's  house, 
and  they  very  seldom  could  speak 
to  each  other.  It  was  nothing  ex 
cept  a  "  good-day  "  on  the  street, 
and  a  stolen  glance,  which  set  them 
both  a-trembling  lest  all  the  congre 
gation  had  noticed,  in  the  meeting 
house.  When  the  winter  set  fairly 
in  they  met  no  more,  for  the  elder 
Evelina  was  taken  ill,  and  her  young 
cousin  did  not  leave  her  even  to 
go  to  meeting.  People  said  they 
guessed  it  was  Evelina  Adams's  last 
sickness,  and  they  furthermore 
guessed  that  she  would  divide  her 
property  between  her  cousin  Martha 
Loomis  and  her  two  girls  and  Eve 
lina  Leonard,  and  that  Evelina 
would  have  the  house  as  her  share. 

77 


EVELINA'S   GARDEN 

Thomas  Merriam  heard  this  last 
with  a  satisfaction  which  he  did  not 
try  to  disguise  from  himself,  because 
h,e  never  dreamed  of  there  being  any 
selfish  element  in  it.  It  was  all  for 
Evelina.  Many  a  time  he  had 
looked  about  the  humble  house 
where  he  had  been  born,  and  where 
he  would  have  to  take  Evelina  after 
he  had  married  her,  and  striven  to 
see  its  poor  features  with  her  eyes — 
not  with  his,  for  which  familiarity 
had  tempered  them.  Often,  as  he 
sat  with  his  parents  in  the  old  sit 
ting-room,  in  which  he  had  kept  so 
far  an  unquestioning  belief,  as  in  a 
friend  of  his  childhood,  the  scales  of 
his  own  personality  would  fall  sud 
denly  from  his  eyes.  Then  he  would 
see,  as  Evelina,  the  poor,  worn, 
humble  face  of  his  home,  and  his 
heart  would  sink.  "  I  don't  see 
how  I  ever  can  bring  her  here,"  he 
thought.  He  began  to  save,  a  few 
cents  at  a  time,  out  of  his  pitiful 

78 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

salary,  to  at  least  beautify  his  own 
chamber  a  little  when  Evelina  should 
come.  He  made  up  his  mind  that 
she  should  have  a  little  dressing- 
table,  with  an  oval  mirror,  and  a 
white  muslin  frill  around  it,  like  one 
he  had  seen  in  Boston.  "  She  shall 
have  that  to  sit  before  while  she 
combs  her  hair,"  he  thought,  with 
defiant  tenderness,  when  he  stowed 
away  another  shilling  in  a  little  box 
in  his  trunk.  It  was  money  which 
he  ordinarily  bestowed  upon  foreign 
missions;  but  his  Evelina  had  come 
between  him  and  the  heathen.  To 
procure  some  dainty  furnishings  for 
her  bridal-chamber  he  took  away  a 
good  half  of  his  tithes  for  the  spread 
of  the  gospel  in  the  dark  lands. 
Now  and  then  his  conscience  smote 
him,  he  felt  shamefaced  before  his 
deacons,  but  Evelina  kept  her  first 
claim.  He  resolved  that  another 
year  he  would  hire  a  piece  of  land, 
and  combine  fanning  with  his 

79 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

ministerial  work,  and  so  try  to  eke 
out  his  salary,  and  get  a  little 
more  money  to  beautify  his  poor 
home  for  his  bride. 

Now  if  Evelina  Adams  had  come 
to  the  appointed  time  for  the  closing 
of  her  solitary  life,  and  if  her  young 
cousin  should  inherit  a  share  of  her 
goodly  property  and  the  fine  old 
mansion-house,  all  necessity  for 
anxiety  of  this  kind  was  over. 
Young  Evelina  would  not  need  to 
be  taken  away,  for  the  sake  of  her 
love,  from  all  these  comforts  and 
luxuries.  Thomas  Merriam  rejoiced 
innocently,  without  a  thought  for 
himself. 

In  the  course  of  the  winter  he 
confided  in  his  father;  he  could  n't 
keep  it  to  himself  any  longer.  Then 
there  was  another  reason.  Seeing 
Evelina  so  little  made  him  at  times 
almost  doubt  the  reality  of  it  all. 
There  were  days  when  he  was  de 
pressed,  and  inclined  to  ask  himself 
80 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

if  he  had  not  dreamed  it.     Telling 
somebody  gave  it  substance. 

His  father  listened  soberly  when 
he  told  him;  he  had  grown  old  of 
late. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "she  'ain't  been 
used  to  living  the  way  you  have, 
though  you  have  had  advantages 
that  none  of  your  folks  ever  had ; 
but  if  she  likes  you,  that  's  all  there 
is  to  it,  I  s'pose. " 

The  old  man  sighed  wearily.  He 
sat  in  his  arm-chair  at  the  kitchen 
fireplace;  his  wife  had  gone  in  to 
one  of  the  neighbors,  and  the  two 
were  alone. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Thomas,  simply, 
"  if  Evelina  Adams  should  n't  live, 
the  chances  are  that  I  should  n't  have 
to  bring  her  here.  She  would  n't 
have  to  give  up  anything  on  my  ac 
count — you  know  that,  father." 

Then  the  young  man  started,  for 
his  father  turned  suddenly  on  him 
with  a  pale,  wrathful  face.     "  You 
81 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

ain't  countin'  on  that!  "  he  shouted. 
''You  ain't  countin'  on  that — a  son 
of  mine  countin'  on  anything  like 
that!  " 

Thomas  colored.  "  Why,  father," 
he  stammered,  "  you  don't  think — 
you  know,  it  's  all  for  her — and  they 
say  she  can't  live  anyway.  I  had 
never  thought  of  such  a  thing  be 
fore.  I  was  wondering  how  I  could 
make  it  comfortable  for  Evelina 
here." 

But  his  father  did  not  seem  to 
listen.  "  Countin'  on  that  !  "  he  re 
peated.  "  Countin'  on  a  poor  old 
soul,  that  'ain't  ever  had  anything 
to  set  her  heart  on  but  a  few  posies, 
dyin'  to  make  room  for  other  folks 
to  have  what  she  's  been  cheated 
out  on.  Countin'  on  that!"  The 
old  man's  voice  broke  into  a  hoarse 
sob ;  he  got  up,  and  went  hurriedly 
out  of  the  room. 

"  Why,  father!  "  his  son  called 
after  him,  in  alarm.  He  got  up  to 
82 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

follow  him,  but  his  father  waved  him 
back  and  shut  the  door  hard. 

11  Father  must  be  getting  child 
ish,"  Thomas  thought,  wonder- 
ingly.  He  did  not  bring  up  the 
subject  to  him  again. 

Evelina  Adams  died  in  March. 
One  morning  the  bell  tolled  seventy 
long  melancholy  tones  before  people 
had  eaten  their  breakfasts.  They 
ran  to  their  doors  and  counted. 
'It  's  her,"  they  said,  nodding, 
when  they  had  waited  a  little  after 
the  seventieth  stroke.  Directly  Mrs. 
Martha  Loomis  and  her  two  girls 
were  seen  hustling  importantly  down 
the  road,  with  their  shawls  over  their 
heads,  to  the  Squire's  house.  "  Mis' 
Loomis  can  lay  her  out,"  they  said. 
"  It  ain't  likely  that  young  Evelina 
knows  anything  about  such  things. 
Guess  she  '11  be  thankful  she  's  got 
somebody  to  call  on  now,  if  she  'ain't 
mixed  much  with  the  Loomises. " 
Then  they  wondered  when  the 

83 


EVELINA'S   GARDEN 

funeral  would  be,  and  the  women 
furbished  up  their  black  gowns  and 
bonnets,  and  even  in  a  few  cases 
drove  to  the  next  town  and  borrowed 
from  relatives ;  but  there  was  a  great 
disappointment  in  store  for  them. 

Evelina  Adams  died  on  a  Satur 
day.  The  next  day  it  was  announced 
from  the  pulpit  that  the  funeral 
would  be  private,  by  the  particular 
request  of  the  deceased.  Evelina 
Adams  had  carried  her  delicate 
seclusion  beyond  death,  to  the  very 
borders  of  the  grave.  Nobody,  out 
side  the  family,  was  bidden  to  the 
funeral,  except  the  doctor,  the  min 
ister,  and  the  two  deacons  of  the 
church.  They  were  to  be  the  bearers. 
The  burial  also  was  to  be  private,  in 
the  Squire's  family  burial-lot,  at  the 
north  of  the  house.  The  bearers 
would  carry  the  coffin  across  the 
yard,  and  there  would  not  only  be 
no  funeral,  but  no  funeral  proces 
sion,  and  no  hearse.  "  It  don't 
84 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

seem  scarcely  decent,"  the  women 
whispered  to  each  other;  "  and  more 
than  all  that,  she  ain't  goin'  to  be 
seen.''  The  deacons'  wives  were 
especially  disturbed  by  this  last,  as 
they  might  otherwise  have  gained 
many  interesting  particulars  by 
proxy. 

Monday  was  the  day  set  for  the 
burial.  Early  in  the  morning  old 
Thomas  Merriam  walked  feebly  up 
the  road  to  the  Squire's  house. 
People  noticed  him  as  he  passed. 
"  How  terribly  fast  he  's  grown  old 
lately!  "  they  said.  He  opened  the 
gate  which  led  into  the  Squire's 
front  yard  with  fumbling  fingers, 
and  went  up  the  walk  to  the  front 
door,  under  the  Corinthian  pillars, 
and  raised  the  brass  knocker. 

Evelina  opened  the  door,  and 
started  and  blushed  when  she  saw 
him.  She  had  been  crying;  there 
were  red  rings  around  her  blue  eyes, 
and  her  pretty  lips  were  swollen. 

85 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

She  tried  to  smile  at  Thomas's 
father,  and  she  held  out  her  hand 
with  shy  welcome. 

."  I  want  to  see  her,"  the  old  man 
said,  abruptly. 

Evelina  started,  and  looked  at  him 
wonderingly.  "  I  —  don't  believe  — 
I  know  who  you  mean/'  said  she. 
'  '  Do  you  want  to  see  Mrs.  Loomis  ?  '  ' 

"No;  I  want  to  see  her." 

"  Her?" 


Evelina  turned  pale  as  she  stared 
at  him.  There  was  something  strange 
about  his  face.  "  But  —  Cousin  Eve 
lina,"  she  faltered—  "  she—  did  n't 
want  —  Perhaps  you  don't  know: 
she  left  special  directions  that  no 
body  was  to  look  at  her." 

!  '  I  want  to  see  her,  '  '  said  the  old 
man,  and  Evelina  gave  way.  She 
stood  aside  for  him  to  enter,  and  led 
him  into  the  great  north  parlor, 
where  Evelina  Adams  lay  in  her 
mournful  state.  The  shutters  were 
86 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

closed,  and  one  on  entering  could 
distinguish  nothing  but  that  long 
black  shadow  in  the  middle  of  the 
room.  Young  Evelina  opened  a 
shutter  a  little  way,  and  a  slanting 
shaft  of  spring  sunlight  came  in  and 
shot  athwart  the  coffin.  The  old 
man  tiptoed  up  and  leaned  over 
and  looked  at  the  dead  woman. 
Evelina  Adams  had  left  further  in 
structions  about  her  funeral,  which 
no  one  understood,  but  which  were 
faithfully  carried  out.  She  wished, 
she  had  said,  to  be  attired  for  her 
long  sleep  in  a  certain  rose-colored 
gown,  laid  away  in  rose  leaves  and 
lavender  in  a  certain  chest  in  a  cer 
tain  chamber.  There  were  also 
silken  hose  and  satin  shoes  with  it, 
and  these  were  to  be  put  on,  and  a 
wrought  lace  tucker  fastened  with  a 
pearl  brooch. 

It  was  the  costume  she  had  worn 
one  Sabbath  day  back  in  her  youth, 
when  she  had  looked  across  the 

87 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

meeting-house  and  her  eyes  had  met 
young  Thomas  Merriam's;  but  no 
body  knew  nor  remembered;  even 
young  Evelina  thought  it  was  simply 
a  vagary  of  her  dead  cousin's. 

"  It  don't  seem  to  me  decent  to 
lay  away  anybody  dressed  so,"  said 
Mrs.  Martha  Loomis  ;  "  but  of 
course  last  wishes  must  be  re 
spected." 

The  two  Loomis  girls  said  they 
were  thankful  nobody  was  to  see  the 
departed  in  her  rose-colored  shroud. 

Even  old  Thomas  Merriam,  lean 
ing  over  poor  Evelina,  cold  and 
dead  in  the  garb  of  her  youth,  did 
not  remember  it,  and  saw  no  mean 
ing  in  it.  He  looked  at  her  long. 
The  beautiful  color  was  all  faded 
out  of  the  yellow-white  face;  the 
sweet  full  lips  were  set  and  thin ;  the 
closed  blue  eyes  sunken  in  dark  hol 
lows  ;  the  yellow  hair  showed  a  line 
of  gray  at  the  edge  of  her  old 
woman's  cap,  and  thin  gray  curls 
88 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

lay  against  the  hollow  cheeks.  But 
old  Thomas  Merriam  drew  a  long 
breath  when  he  looked  at  her.  It 
was  like  a  gasp  of  admiration  and 
wonder;  a  strange  rapture  came  into 
his  dim  eyes;  his  lips  moved  as  if  he 
whispered  to  her,  but  young  Eve 
lina  could  not  hear  a  sound.  She 
watched  him,  half  frightened,  but 
finally  he  turned  to  her.  "  I  'ain't 
seen  her — fairly,"  said  he,  hoarsely 
— "  I  'ain't  seen  her,  savin'  a  glimpse 
of  her  at  the  window,  for  over  forty 
year,  and  she  'ain't  changed,  not  a 
look.  I  'd  have  known  her  any 
wheres.  She  's  the  same  as  she  was 
when  she  was  a  girl.  It  's  wonderful 
— wonderful!  " 

Young  Evelina  shrank  a  little. 
"  We  think  she  looks  natural,"  she 
said,  hesitatingly. 

"  She  looks  jest  as  she  did  when 

she  was  a  girl  and  used  to  come  into 

the  meetin'-house.     She  is  jest  the 

same,"  the  old  man  repeated,  in  his 

80 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

eager,  hoarse  voice.  Then  he  bent 
over  the  coffin,  and  his  lips  moved 
again.  Young  Evelina  would  have 
called  Mrs.  Loomis,  for  she  was 
frightened,  had  he  not  been  Thomas's 
father,  and  had  it  not  been  for  her 
vague  feeling  that  there  might  be 
some  old  story  to  explain  this  which 
she  had  never  heard.  "  Maybe  he 
was  in  love  with  poor  Cousin  Eve 
lina,  as  Thomas  is  with  me,"  thought 
young  Evelina,  using  her  own  leap- 
ing-pole  of  love  to  land  straight  at 
the  truth.  But  she  never  told  her 
surmise  to  any  one  except  Thomas, 
and  that  was  long  afterwards,  when 
the  old  man  was  dead.  Now  she 
watched  him  with  her  blue  dilated 
eyes.  But  soon  he  turned  away 
from  the  coffin  and  made  his  way 
straight  out  of  the  room,  without  a 
word.  Evelina  followed  him  through 
the  entry  and  opened  the  outer  door. 
He  turned  on  the  threshold  and 
looked  back  at  her,  his  face  working. 
90 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

"  Don't  ye  go  to  lottin'  too  much 
on  what  ye  're  goin'  to  get  through 
folks  that  have  died  an*  not  had  any 
thing,"  he  said;  and  he  shook  his 
head  almost  fiercely  at  her. 

44  No,  I  won't.  I  don't  think  I 
understand  what  you  mean,  sir," 
stammered  Evelina. 

The  old  man  stood  looking  at  her 
a  moment.  Suddenly  she  saw  the 
tears  rolling  over  his  old  cheeks. 
4<  I  'm  much  obliged  to  ye  for  lettin' 
of  me  see  her,"  he  said,  hoarsely, 
and  crept  feebly  down  the  steps. 

Evelina  went  back  trembling  to 
the  room  where  her  dead  cousin  lay, 
and  covered  her  face,  and  closed  the 
shutter  again.  Then  she  went  about 
her  household  duties,  wondering. 
She  could  not  understand  what  it  all 
meant;  but  one  thing  she  under 
stood — that  in  some  way  this  old 
dead  woman,  Evelina  Adams,  had 
gotten  immortal  youth  and  beauty 
in  one  human  heart.  "  She  looked 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

to  him  just  as  she  did  when  she  was 
a  girl,"  Evelina  kept  thinking  to 
herself  with  awe.  She  said  nothing 
about  it  to  Mrs.  Martha  Loomis  or 
her  daughters.  They  had  been  in 
the  back  part  of  the  house,  and  had 
not  heard  old  Thomas  Merriam 
come  in,  and  they  never  knew  about 
it. 

Mrs.  Loomis  and  the  two  girls 
stayed  in  the  house  day  and  night 
until  after  the  funeral.  "'They  con 
fidently  expected  to  live  there  in  the 
future.  "  It  is  n't  likely  that  Eve 
lina  Adams  thought  a  young  woman 
no  older  than  Evelina  Leonard  could 
live  here  alone  in  this  great  house 
with  nobody  but  that  old  Sarah 
Judd.  It  would  not  be  proper  nor 
becoming,"  said  Martha  Loomis  to 
her  two  daughters ;  and  they  agreed, 
and  brought  over  many  of  their  pos 
sessions  under  cover  of  night  to  the 
Squire's  house  during  the  interval 
before  the  funeral. 
92 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

But  after  the  funeral  and  the  read 
ing  of  the  will  the  Loomises  made 
sundry  trips  after  dusk  back  to  their 
old  home,  with  their  best  petticoats 
and  cloaks  over  their  arms,  and  their 
bonnets  dangling  by  their  strings  at 
their  sides.  For  Evelina  Adams's 
last  will  and  testament  had  been 
read,  and  therein  provision  was 
made  for  the  continuance  of  the  an 
nuity  heretofore  paid  them  for  their 
support,  with  the  condition  affixed 
that  not  one  night  should  they 
spend  after  the  reading  of  the  will 
in  the  house  known  as  the  Squire 
Adams  house.  The  annuity  was  an 
ample  one,  and  would  provide  the 
widow  Martha  Loomis  and  her 
daughters,  as  it  had  done  before, 
with  all  the  needfuls  of  life;  but 
upon  hearing  the  will  they  stiffened 
their  double  chins  into  their  ker 
chiefs  with  indignation,  for  they  had 
looked  for  more. 

Evelina  Adams's  will  was  a  will  of 

93 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

conditions,  for  unto  it  she  had 
affixed  two  more,  and  those  affected 
her  beloved  cousin  Evelina  Leonard. 
It  was  notable  that  "  beloved  "  had 
not  preceded  her  cousin  Martha 
Loomis's  name  in  the  will.  No 
pretence  of  love,  when  she  felt  none, 
had  she  ever  made  in  her  life.  The 
entire  property  of  Evelina  Adams, 
spinster,  deceased,  with  the  excep 
tion  of  Widow  Martha  Loomis's 
provision,  fell  to  this  beloved  young 
Evelina  Leonard,  subject  to  two 
conditions — firstly,  she  was  never 
to  enter  into  matrimony,  with  any 
person  whomsoever,  at  any  time 
whatsoever ;  secondly,  she  was  never 
to  let  the  said  spinster  Evelina 
Adams's  garden,  situated  at  the 
rear  and  southward  of  the  house 
known  as  the  Squire  Adams  house, 
die  through  any  neglect  of  hers. 
Due  allowance  was  to  be  made  for 
the  dispensations  of  Providence :  for 
hail  and  withering  frost  and  long- 

94 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

continued  drought,  and  for  times 
wherein  the  said  Evelina  Leonard 
might,  by  reason  of  being  confined 
to  the  house  by  sickness,  be  pre 
vented  from  attending  to  the  needs 
of  the  growing  plants,  and  the  ver 
dict  in  such  cases  was  to  rest  with 
the  minister  and  the  deacons  of  the 
church.  But  should  this  beloved 
Evelina  love  and  wed,  or  should  she 
let,  through  any  wilful  neglect,  that 
garden  perish  in  the  season  of  flow 
ers,  all  that  goodly  property  would 
she  forfeit  to  a  person  unknown, 
whose  name,  enclosed  in  a  sealed 
envelope,  was  to  be  held  meantime 
in  the  hands  of  the  executor,  who 
had  also  drawn  up  the  will,  Lawyer 
Joshua  Lang. 

There  was  great  excitement  in  the 
village  over  this  strange  and  un 
wonted  will.  Some  were  there  who 
held  that  Evelina  Adams  had  not 
been  of  sound  mind,  and  it  should  be 
contested.  It  was  even  rumored  that 

95 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

Widow  Martha  Loomis  had  visited 
Lawyer  Joshua  Lang  and  broached 
the  subject,  but  he  had  dismissed 
the  matter  peremptorily  by  telling 
her  that  Evelina  Adams,  spinster,  de 
ceased,  had  been  as  much  in  her  right 
mind  at  the  time  of  drawing  the  will 
as  anybody  of  his  acquaintance. 

"  Not  setting  store  by  relations, 
and  not  wanting  to  have  them  under 
your  roof,  does  n't  go  far  in  law  nor 
common-sense  to  send  folks  to  the 
madhouse,"  old  Lawyer  Lang,  who 
was  famed  for  his  sharp  tongue,  was 
reported  to  have  said.  However, 
Mrs.  Martha  Loomis  was  somewhat 
comforted  by  her  firm  belief  that 
either  her  own  name  or  that  of  one 
of  her  daughters  was  in  that  sealed 
envelope  kept  by  Lawyer  Joshua 
Lang  in  his  strong-box,  and  by  her 
firm  purpose  to  watch  carefully  lest 
Evelina  prove  derelict  in  fulfilling 
the  two  conditions  whereby  she  held 
the  property. 

96 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

Larger  peep-holes  were  soon  cut 
away  mysteriously  in  the  high  arbor- 
vitae  hedge,  and  therein  were  often 
set  for  a  few  moments,  when  they 
passed  that  way,  the  eager  eyes  of 
Mrs.  Martha  or  her  daughter  Flora 
or  Fidelia  Loomis.  Frequent  calls 
they  also  made  upon  Evelina,  living 
alone  with  the  old  woman  Sarah 
Judd,  who  had  been  called  in  during 
her  cousin's  illness,  and  they  strolled 
into  the  garden,  spying  anxiously 
for  withered  leaves  or  dry  stalks. 
They  at  every  opportunity  inter 
viewed  the  old  man  who  assisted 
Evelina  in  her  care  of  the  garden 
concerning  its  welfare.  But  small 
progress  they  made  with  him,  stand 
ing  digging  at  the  earth  with  his 
spade  while  they  talked,  as  if  in 
truth  his  wits  had  gone  therein  be 
fore  his  body  and  he  would  uncover 
them. 

Moreover,  Mrs.  Martha  Loomis 
talked  much  slyly  to  mothers  of 

97 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

young  men,  and  sometimes  with 
bold  insinuations  to  the  young  men 
themselves,  of  the  sad  lot  of  poor 
young  Evelina,  condemned  to  a 
solitary  and  loveless  life,  and  of  her 
sweetness  and  beauty  and  desirabil 
ity  in  herself,  although  she  could  not 
bring  the  old  Squire's  money  to  her 
husband.  And  once,  but  no  more 
than  that,  she  touched  lightly  upon 
the  subject  to  the  young  minister, 
Thomas  Merriam,  when  he  was 
making  a  pastoral  call. 

"  My  heart  bleeds  for  the  poor 
child  living  all  alone  in  that  great 
house,"  said  she.  And  she  looked 
down  mournfully,  and  did  not  see 
how  white  the  young  minister's  face 
turned.  "  It  seems  almost  a  pity," 
said  she,  furthermore — "  Evelina  is 
a  good  housekeeper,  and  has  rare 
qualities  in  herself,  and  so  many  get 
poor  wives  nowadays  —  that  some 
godly  young  man  should  not  court 
her  in  spite  of  the  will.  I  doubt, 
98 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

too,  if  she  would  not  have  a  happier 
lot  than  growing  old  over  that  gar 
den,  as  poor  Cousin  Evelina  did  be 
fore  her,  even  if  she  has  a  fine  house 
to  live  in  and  a  goodly  sum  in  the 
bank.  She  looks  pindling  enough 
lately.  I  '11  warrant  she  has  lost  a 
good  ten  pound  since  poor  Evelina 
was  laid  away,  and — " 

But  Thomas  Merriam  cut  her 
short.  '  I  see  no  profit  in  discuss 
ing  matters  which  do  not  concern 
us,"  said  he,  and  only  his  ministerial 
estate  saved  him  from  the  charge  of 
impertinence. 

As  it  was,  Martha  Loomis  colored 
high.  '  I  '11  warrant  he'  11  look  out 
which  side  his  bread  is  buttered  on ; 
ministers  always  do,"  she  said  to  her 
daughters  after  he  had  gone.  She 
never  dreamed  how  her  talk  had  cut 
him  to  the  heart. 

Had  he  not  seen  more  plainly  than 
any  one  else,  Sunday  after  Sunday, 
when  he  glanced  down  at  her  once 

99 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

or  twice  cautiously  from  his  pulpit, 
how  weary-looking  and  thin  she  was 
growing  ?  And  her  bright  color  was 
wellnigh  gone,  and  there  were  pitiful 
downward  lines  at  the  corners  of  her 
sweet  mouth.  Poor  young  Evelina 
was  fading  like  one  of  her  own 
flowers,  as  if  some  celestial  gardener 
had  failed  in  his  care  of  her.  And 
Thomas  saw  it,  and  in  his  heart  of 
hearts  he  knew  the  reason,  and  yet 
he  would  not  yield.  Not  once  had 
he  entered  the  old  Squire's  house 
since  he  attended  the  dead  Evelina's 
funeral,  and  stood  praying  and 
eulogizing,  with  her  coffin  between 
him  and  the  living  Evelina,  with  her 
pale  face  shrouded  in  black  bomba 
zine.  He  had  never  spoken  to  her 
since,  nor  entered  the  house;  but 
he  had  written  her  a  letter,  in  which 
all  the  fierce  passion  and  anguish  of 
his  heart  was  cramped  and  held 
down  by  formal  words  and  phrases, 
and  poor  young  Evelina  did  not  see 
100 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

beneath  them.  When  her  lover 
wrote  her  that  he  felt  it  inconsistent 
with  his  Christian  duty  and  the 
higher  aims  of  his  existence  to  take 
any  further  steps  towards  a  matri 
monial  alliance,  she  felt  merely  that 
Thomas  either  cared  no  more  for 
her,  or  had  come  to  consider,  upon 
due  reflection,  that  she  was  not  fit  to 
undertake  the  responsible  position 
of  a  minister's  wife.  '  It  may  be 
that  in  some  way  I  failed  in  my  at 
tendance  upon  Cousin  Evelina," 
thought  poor  young  Evelina,  "  or  it 
may  be  that  he  thinks  I  have  not 
enough  dignity  of  character  to  in 
spire  respect  among  the  older  women 
in  the  church."  And  sometimes, 
with  a  sharp  thrust  of  misery  that 
shook  her  out  of  her  enforced  pa 
tience  and  meekness,  she  wondered 
if  indeed  her  own  loving  freedom 
with  him  had  turned  him  against 
her,  and  led  him  in  his  later  and 
sober  judgment  to  consider  her  too 

101 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

light-minded  for  a  minister's  wife. 
"  It  may  be  that  I  was  guilty  of 
great  indecorum,  and  almost  indeed 
forfeited  my  claim  to  respect  for 
maidenly  modesty,  inasmuch  as  I 
suffered  him  to  give  me  kisses,  and 
did  almost  bring  myself  to  return 
them  in  kind.  But  my  heart  did  so 
entreat  me,  and  in  truth  it  seemed 
almost  like  a  lack  of  sincerity  for  me 
to  wholly  withstand  it,"  wrote  poor 
young  Evelina  in  her  journal  at  that 
time;  and  she  further  wrote:  "  It  is 
indeed  hard  for  one  who  has  so  little 
knowledge  to  be  fully  certain  of 
what  is  or  is  not  becoming  and  a 
Christian  duty  in  matters  of  this 
kind ;  but  if  I  have  in  any  manner, 
through  my  ignorance  or  unwarrant 
able  affection,  failed,  and  so  lost  the 
love  and  respect  of  a  good  man,  and 
the  opportunity  to  become  his  help 
meet  during  life,  I  pray  that  I  may 
be  forgiven — for  I  sinned  not  wilfully 
— that  the  lesson  may  be  sanctified 

IC2 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

unto  me,  and  that  I  may  live  as  the 
Lord  order,  in  Christian  patience  and 
meekness,  and  not  repining."  It 
never  occurred  to  young  Evelina 
that  possibly  Thomas  Merriam's 
sense  of  duty  might  be  strengthened 
by  the  loss  of  all  her  cousin's  prop 
erty  should  she  marry  him,  and 
neither  did  she  dream  that  he  might 
hesitate  to  take  her  from  affluence 
into  poverty  for  her  own  sake.  For 
herself  the  property,  as  put  in  the 
balance  beside  her  love,  was  lighter 
than  air  itself.  It  was  so  light  that 
it  had  no  place  in  her  consciousness. 
She  simply  had  thought,  upon  hear 
ing  the  will,  of  Martha  Loomis  and 
her  daughters  in  possession  of  the 
property,  and  herself  with  Thomas, 
with  perfect  acquiescence  and  rap 
ture. 

Evelina   Adams's   disapprobation 
of    her    marriage,    which   was    sup 
posedly   expressed  in  the  will,  had 
indeed,    without    reference    to   the 
103 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

property,  somewhat  troubled  her 
tender  heart,  but  she  told  herself 
that  Cousin  Evelina  had  not  known 
she  had  promised  to  marry  Thomas ; 
that  she  would  not  wish  her  to  break 
her  solemn  promise.  And  further 
more,  it  seemed  to  her  quite  reason 
able  that  the  condition  had  been 
inserted  in  the  will  mainly  through 
concern  for  the  beloved  garden. 

"  Cousin  Evelina  might  have 
thought  perhaps  I  would  let  the 
flowers  die  when  I  had  a  husband 
and  children  to  take  care  of,"  said 
Evelina.  And  so  she  had  disposed 
of  all  the  considerations  which  had 
disturbed  her,  and  had  thought  of 
no  others. 

She  did  not  answer  Thomas's 
letter.  It  was  so  worded  that  it 
seemed  to  require  no  reply,  and  she 
felt  that  he  must  be  sure  of  her  ac 
quiescence  in  whatever  he  thought 
best.  She  laid  the  letter  away  in  a 
little  rosewood  box,  in  which  she 
104 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

had  always  kept  her  dearest  treasures 
since  her  school-days.  Sometimes 
she  took  it  out  and  read  it,  and  it 
seemed  to  her  that  the  pain  in  her 
heart  would  put  an  end  to  her  in 
spite  of  all  her  prayers  for  Christian 
fortitude;  and  yet  she  could  not 
help  reading  it  again. 

It  was  seldom  that  she  stole  a  look 
at  her  old  lover  as  he  stood  in  the 
pulpit  in  the  meeting-house,  but 
when  she  did  she  thought  with  an 
anxious  pang  that  he  looked  worn 
and  ill,  and  that  night  she  prayed  that 
the  Lord  would  restore  his  health  to 
him  for  the  sake  of  his  people. 

It  was  four  months  after  Evelina 
Adams's  death,  and  her  garden  was 
in  the  full  glory  of  midsummer,  when 
one  evening,  towards  dusk,  young 
Evelina  went  slowly  down  the  street. 
She  seldom  walked  abroad  now,  but 
kept  herself  almost  as  secluded  as 
her  cousin  had  done  before  her.  But 
that  night  a  great  restlessness  was 

105 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

upon  her,  and  she  put  a  little  black 
silk  shawl  over  her  shoulders  and 
went  out.  It  was  quite  cool,  al 
though  it  was  midsummer.  The 
dusk  was  deepening  fast ;  the  katy 
dids  called  back  and  forth  from  the 
wayside  bushes.  Evelina  met  no 
body  for  some  distance.  Then  she 
saw  a  man  coming  towards  her,  and 
her  heart  stood  still,  and  she  was 
about  to  turn  back,  for  she  thought 
for  a  minute  it  was  the  young  minis 
ter.  Then  she  saw  it  was  his  father, 
and  she  went  on  slowly,  with  her 
eyes  downcast.  When  she  met  him 
she  looked  up  and  said  good-eve 
ning,  gravely,  and  would  have  passed 
on,  but  he  stood  in  her  way. 

'' ''  I  've  got  a  word  to  say  to  ye,  if 
ye  '11  listen,"  he  said. 

Evelina  looked  at  him  tremblingly. 
There  was  something  strained  and 
solemn  in  his  manner.  "I  '11  hear 
whatever  you  have  to  say,  sir, ' '  she 
said. 

106 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

The  old  man  leaned  his  pale  face 
over  her  and  raised  a  shaking  fore 
finger.  "  I  've  made  up  my  mind  to 
say  something,"  said  he.  '  I  don't 
know  as  I  've  got  any  right  to,  and 
maybe  my  son  will  blame  me,  but 
I  'm  goin'  to  see  that  you  have  a 
chance.  It  's  been  borne  in  upon 
me  that  women  folks  don't  always 
have  a  fair  chance.  It  's  jest  this 
I  'm  goin'  to  say:  I  don't  know 
whether  you  know  how  my  son  feels 
about  it  or  not.  I  don't  know  how 
open  he  's  been  with  you.  Do  you 
know  jest  why  he  quit  you  ? " 

Evelina  shook  her  head.  ;<  No," 
she  panted  —  "I  don't  —  I  never 
knew.  He  said  it  was  his  duty." 

'  Duty  can  get  to  be  an  idol  of 
wood  and  stone,  an'  I  don't  know 
but  Thomas's  is,"  said  the  old  man. 
"  Well,  I  '11  tell  you.  He  don't 
think  it  's  right  for  him  to  marry 
you,  and  make  you  leave  that  big 
house,  and  lose  all  that  money.  He 
107 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

don't  care  anything  about  it  for 
himself,  but  it  's  for  you.  Did  you 
know  that  ?  " 

Evelina  grasped  the  old  man's 
arm  hard  with  her  little  fingers. 

"  You  don't  mean  that — was  why 
he  did  it!  "  she  gasped. 

"  Yes,  that  was  why." 

Evelina  drew  away  from  him.  She 
was  ashamed  to  have  Thomas's  father 
see  the  joy  in  her  face.  ' '  Thank  you, 
sir,"  she  said.  "  I  did  not  under 
stand.  I — will  write  to  him." 

"  Maybe  my  son  will  think  I  have 
done  wrong  coming  betwixt  him  and 
his  idees  of  duty,"  said  old  Thomas 
Merriam,  "  but  sometimes  there  's 
a  good  deal  lost  for  lack  of  a  word, 
and  I  wanted  you  to  have  a  fair 
chance  an'  a  fair  say.  It  's  been 
borne  in  upon  me  that  women  folks 
don't  always  have  it.  Now  you  can 
do  jest  as  you  think  best,  but  you 
must  remember  one  thing — riches 
ain't  all.  A  little  likin'  for  you  that 's 
108 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

goin'  to  last,  and  keep  honest  and 
faithful  to  you  as  long  as  you  live,  is 
worth  more;  an'  it  's  worth  more  to 
women  folks  than  't  is  to  men,  an' 
it  's  worth  enough  to  them.  My 
son  's  poorly.  His  mother  and  I  are 
worried  about  him.  He  don't  eat 
nor  sleep — walks  his  chamber  nights. 
His  mother  don't  know  what  the 
matter  is,  but  he  let  on  to  me  some 
time  since." 

14  I  '11  write  a  letter  to  him," 
gasped  Evelina  again.  "  Good 
night,  sir."  She  pulled  her  little 
black  silk  shawl  over  her  head  and 
hastened  home,  and  all  night  long 
her  candle  burned,  while  her  weary 
little  fingers  toiled  over  pages  of 
foolscap-paper  to  convince  Thomas 
Merriam  fully,  and  yet  in  terms  not 
exceeding  maidenly  reserve,  that  the 
love  of  his  heart  and  the  companion 
ship  of  his  life  were  worth  more  to 
her  than  all  the  silver  and  gold  in 
the  world.  Then  the  next  morning 
109 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

she  despatched  it,  all  neatly  folded 
and  sealed,  and  waited. 

It  was  strange  that  a  letter  like 
that  could  not  have  moved  Thomas 
Merriam,  when  his  heart  too  pleaded 
with  him  so  hard  to  be  moved.  But 
that  might  have  been  the  very  reason 
why  he  could  withstand  her,  and  why 
the  consciousness  of  his  own  weak 
ness  gave  him  strength.  Thomas 
Merriam  was  one,  when  he  had  once 
fairly  laid  hold  of  duty,  to  grasp  it 
hard,  although  it  might  be  to  his 
own  pain  and  death,  and  maybe  to 
that  of  others.  He  wrote  to  poor 
young  Evelina  another  letter,  in 
which  he  emphasized  and  repeated 
his  strict  adherence  to  what  he  be 
lieved  the  line  of  duty  in  their 
separation,  and  ended  it  with  a 
prayer  for  her  welfare  and  happi 
ness,  in  which,  indeed,  for  a  second, 
the  passionate  heart  of  the  man 
showed  forth.  Then  he  locked  him 
self  in  his  chamber,  and  nobody  ever 
no 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

knew  what  he  suffered  there.  But 
one  pang  he  did  not  suffer  which 
Evelina  would  have  suffered  in  his 
place.  He  mourned  not  over  nor 
realized  the  grief  of  her  tender  heart 
when  she  should  read  his  letter, 
otherwise  he  could  not  have  sent  it. 
He  writhed  under  his  own  pain 
alone,  and  his  duty  hugged  him 
hard,  like  the  iron  maiden  of  the  old 
tortures,  but  he  would  not  yield. 

As  for  Evelina,  when  she  got  his 
letter,  and  had  read  it  through,  she 
sat  still  and  white  for  a  long  time, 
and  did  not  seem  to  hear  when  old 
Sarah  Judd  spoke  to  her.  But  at 
last  she  rose  and  went  to  her  cham 
ber,  and  knelt  down,  and  prayed  for 
a  long  time ;  and  then  she  went  out 
in  the  garden  and  cut  all  the  most 
beautiful  flowers,  and  tied  them  in 
wreaths  and  bouquets,  and  carried 
them  out  to  the  north  side  of  the 
house,  where  her  cousin  Evelina  was 
buried,  and  covered  her  grave  with 
in 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

them.  And  then  she  knelt  down 
there,  and  hid  her  face  among  them, 
and  said,  in  a  low  voice,  as  if  in  a 
listening  ear,  "  I  pray  you,  Cousin 
Evelina,  forgive  me  for  what  I  am 
about  to  do." 

And  then  she  returned  to  the 
house,  and  sat  at  her  needlework 
as  usual;  but  the  old  woman  kept 
looking  at  her,  and  asking  if  she 
were  sick,  for  there  was  a  strange 
look  in  her  face. 

She  and  old  Sarah  Judd  had 
always  their  tea  at  five  o'clock,  and 
put  the  candles  out  at  nine,  and  this 
night  they  did  as  they  were  wont. 
But  at  one  o'clock  in  the  morning 
young  Evelina  stole  softly  down  the 
stairs  with  her  lighted  candle,  and 
passed  through  into  the  kitchen; 
and  a  half -hour  after  she  came  forth 
into  the  garden,  which  lay  in  full 
moonlight,  and  she  had  in  her  hand 
a  steaming  teakettle,  and  she  passed 
around  among  the  shrubs  and 
112 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

watered  them,  and  a  white  cloud  of 
steam  rose  around  them.  Back  and 
forth  she  went  to  the  kitchen;  for 
she  had  heated  the  great  copper 
wash-kettle  full  of  water;  and  she 
watered  all  the  shrubs  in  the  garden, 
moving  amid  curling  white  wreaths 
of  steam,  until  the  water  was  gone. 
And  then  she  set  to  work  and  tore 
up  by  the  roots  with  her  little  hands 
and  trampled  with  her  little  feet 
all  the  beautiful  tender  flower-beds; 
all  the  time  weeping,  and  moaning 
softly:  "  Poor  Cousin  Evelina!  poor 
Cousin  Evelina!  Oh,  forgive  me, 
poor  Cousin  Evelina!  " 

And  at  dawn  the  garden  lay  in 
ruin,  for  all  the  tender  plants  she 
had  torn  up  by  the  roots  and 
trampled  down,  and  all  the  stronger- 
rooted  shrubs  she  had  striven  to  kill 
with  boiling  water  and  salt. 

Then  Evelina  went  into  the 
house,  and  made  herself  tidy  as  well 
as  she  could  when  she  trembled  so, 

"3 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

and  put  her  little  shawl  over  her 
head,  and  went  down  the  road  to  the 
Merriams'  house.  It  was  so  early 
the  village  was  scarcely  astir,  but 
there  was  smoke  coming  out  of  the 
kitchen  chimney  at  the  Merriams' ; 
and  when  she  knocked,  Mrs.  Mer- 
riam  opened  the  door  at  once,  and 
stared  at  her. 

4<  Is  Sarah  Judd  dead  ? "  she 
cried ;  for  her  first  thought  was  that 
something  must  have  happened 
when  she  saw  the  girl  standing 
there  with  her  wild  pale  face. 

"  I  want  to  see  the  minister,"  said 
Evelina,  faintly,  and  she  looked  at 
Thomas's  mother  with  piteous  eyes. 

"  Be  you  sick  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Mer- 
riam.  She  laid  a  hard  hand  on  the 
girl's  arm,  and  led  her  into  the  sit 
ting-room,  and  put  her  into  the 
rocking-chair  with  the  feather  cush 
ion.  '  You  look  real  poorly,"  said 
she.  "  Sha'n't  I  get  you  a  little  of 
my  elderberry  wine  ? ' ' 
114 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

1  I  want  to  see  him,"  said  Eve 
lina,  and  she  almost  sobbed. 

'  I  '11  go  right  and  speak  to  him," 
said  Mrs.  Merriam.  "  He  's  up,  I 
guess.  He  gets  up  early  to  write. 
But  had  n't  I  better  get  you  some 
thing  to  take  first  ?  You  do  look 
sick." 

But  Evelina  only  shook  her  head. 
She  had  her  face  covered  with  her 
hands,  and  was  weeping  softly. 
Mrs.  Merriam  left  the  room,  with  a 
long  backward  glance  at  her.  Pres 
ently  the  door  opened  and  Thomas 
came  in.  Evelina  stood  up  before 
him.  Her  pale  face  was  all  wet 
with  tears,  but  there  was  an  air  of 
strange  triumph  about  her. 

'  The  garden  is  dead,"  said  she. 

'  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  cried 
out,  staring  at  her,  for  indeed  he 
thought  for  a  minute  that  her  wits 
had  left  her. 

~u~  garden  is  dead,"  said  she. 
"  Last   n^1-*-    T    watered   the   roses 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

with  boiling  water  and  salt,  and  I 
pulled  the  other  flowers  up  by  their 
roots.  The  garden  is  dead,  and  I 
have  lost  all  Cousin  Evelina's  money, 
and  it  need  not  come  between  us 
any  longer."  She  said  that,  and 
looked  up  in  his  face  with  her  blue 
eyes,  through  which  the  love  of  the 
whole  race  of  loving  women  from 
which  she  had  sprung,  as  well  as  her 
own,  seemed  to  look,  and  held  out 
her  little  hands;  but  even  then 
Thomas  Merriam  could  not  under 
stand,  and  stood  looking  at  her. 

'Why  —  did    you    do    it?"    he 
stammered. 

Because  you  would  have  me  no 

other   way,    and — I   could   n't  bear 

that  anything  like  that  should  come 

between  us,"  she  said,  and  her  voice 

shook  like   a   harp-string,    and    her 

pale  face  went  red,  then  pale  again. 

But  Thomas  still  stood  staring  at 

her.    Then  her  heart  failed  her.     She 

thought  that  he  did  not  care,  and  she 

116 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

had  been  mistaken.  She  felt  as  if  it 
were  the  hour  of  her  death,  and 
turned  to  go.  And  then  he  caught 
her  in  his  arms. 

"  Oh,"  he  cried,  with  a  great 
sob,  "  the  Lord  make  me  worthy  of 
thee,  Evelina!  " 

There  had  never  been  so  much 
excitement  in  the  village  as  when 
the  fact  of  the  ruined  garden  came 
to  light.  Flora  Loomis,  peeping 
through  the  hedge  on  her  way  to 
the  store,  had  spied  it  first.  Then 
she  had  run  home  for  her  mother, 
who  had  in  turn  sought  Lawyer 
Lang,  panting  bonnetless  down  the 
road.  But  before  the  lawyer  had 
started  for  the  scene  of  disaster,  the 
minister,  Thomas  Merriam,  had  ap 
peared,  and  asked  for  a  word  in 
private  with  him.  Nobody  ever 
knew  just  what  that  word  was,  but 
the  lawyer  was  singularly  uncom 
municative  and  reticent  as  to  the 
ruined  garden. 

117 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

"  Do  you  think  the  young  woman 
is  out  of  her  mind  ?"  one  of  the 
deacons  asked  him,  in  a  whisper. 

"  I  wish  all  the  young  women  were 
as  much  in  their  minds;  we  'd  have 
a  better  world,"  said  the  lawyer, 
gruffly. 

"  When  do  you  think  we  can 
begin  to  move  in  here  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Martha  Loomis,  her  wide  skirts 
sweeping  a  bed  of  uprooted  ver 
benas. 

"  When  your  claim  is  established," 
returned  the  lawyer,  shortly,  and 
turned  on  his  heel  and  went  away, 
his  dry  old  face  scanning  the  ground 
like  a  dog  on  a  scent.  That  after 
noon  he  opened  the  sealed  document 
in  the  presence  of  witnesses,  and  the 
name  of  the  heir  to  whom  the  prop 
erty  fell  was  disclosed.  It  was 
"  Thomas  Merriam,  the  beloved  and 
esteemed  minister  of  this  parish," 
and  young  Evelina  would  gain  her 
wealth  instead  of  losing  it  by  her 
118 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

marriage.  And  furthermore,  after 
the  declaration  of  the  name  of  the 
heir  was  this  added:  "  This  do  I  in 
the  hope  and  belief  that  neither  the 
greed  of  riches  nor  the  fear  of  them 
shall  prevent  that  which  is  good  and 
wise  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord,  and 
with  the  surety  that  a  love  which 
shall  triumph  over  so  much  in  its 
way  shall  endure,  and  shall  be  a 
blessing  and  not  a  curse  to  my  be 
loved  cousin,  Evelina  Leonard." 

Thomas  Merriam  and  Evelina 
were  married  before  the  leaves  fell 
in  that  same  year,  by  the  minister 
of  the  next  village,  who  rode  over  in 
his  chaise,  and  brought  his  wife,  who 
was  also  a  bride,  and  wore  her  wed 
ding-dress  of  a  pink  and  pearl  shot 
silk.  But  young  Evelina  wore  the 
blue  bridal  array  which  had  been 
worn  by  old  Squire  Adams's  bride, 
all  remodelled  daintily  to  suit  the 
fashion  of  the  times;  and  as  she 
moved,  the  fragrances  of  roses  and 
119 


EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

lavender  of  the  old  summers  during 
which  it  had  been  laid  away  were 
evident,  like  sweet  memories. 


THE  END 


120 


LITTLE   BOOKS 
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EPISODES  IN  VAN  BIBBER'S  LIFE 

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GOOD  FOR  THE  SOUL 

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EVELINA'S  GARDEN 

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THE  CAPTURED  DREAM 

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